ooked as if peacefully going to sleep. He swam, guiding the spar.

"I think we are near Llandudno. I know we have passed the little Ormes'
head." That was all he said; but she did net speak.

He swam out of the heat and fierce blaze of light into the quiet, dark
waters; and then into the moon's path. It might be half an hour before he
got into that silver stream. When the beams fell down upon them he looked
at Maggie. Her head rested on the spar, quite still. He could not bear it.
"Maggie--dear heart! speak!"

With a great effort she was called back from the borders of death by that
voice, and opened her filmy eyes, which looked abroad as if she could see
nothing nearer than the gleaming lights of Heaven. She let the lids fall
softly again. He was as if alone in the wide world with God.

"A quarter of an hour more and all is over," thought he. "The people at
Llandudno must see our burning ship, and will come out in their boats."
He kept in the line of light, although it did not lead him direct to the
shore, in order that they might be seen. He swam with desperation. One
moment he thought he had heard her last gasp rattle through the rush of
the waters; and all strength was gone, and he lay on the waves as if he
himself must die, and go with her spirit straight through that purple lift
to heaven; the next he heard the splash of oars, and raised himself
and cried aloud. The boatmen took them in--and examined her by the
lantern--and spoke in Welsh--and shook their heads. Frank threw himself on
his knees, and prayed them to take her to land. They did not know his
words, but they understood his prayer. He kissed her lips--he chafed her
hands--he wrung the water out of her hair--he held her feet against his
warm breast.

"She is not dead," he kept saying to the men, as he saw their sorrowful,
pitying looks.

The kind people at Llandudno had made ready their own humble beds, with
every appliance of comfort they could think of, as soon as they understood
the nature of the calamity which had befallen the ship on their coasts.
Frank walked, dripping, bareheaded, by the body of his Margaret, which was
borne by some men along the rocky sloping shore.

"She is not dead!" he said. He stopped at the first house they came to. It
belonged to a kind-hearted woman. They laid Maggie in her bed, and got the
village doctor to come and see her.

"There is life still," said he, gravely.

"I knew it," said Frank. But it felled him to t