Quite a foot of water was swashing back and forth over the cabin floor, while a steady stream poured down the companionway stairs. Yes, the end was here!
"Take this," she hurriedly pressed into my hand the round brass frame that held her picture—the frame fashioned after a porthole. "Keep it—then come to me! Swear!"
"I swear," I gasped. "But where shall I find you? In what strange land will you be?"
Her eyes were wide with a frightened look that even in our extremity gave the lie to fear. Through parted, expectant lips a trembling sigh of inexpressible sweetness seemed to carry her answer; it was brought by the mystery of her look, by the clasp of our senses—for I know she did not speak a word:
"I'll wait beneath the palms on one of many, many islands,
Set as emerald jewels in an ever-changing sea;
My hammock swings beside a pool of purling, crystal water
Whisp'ring to the shadows of a lonely Arcady;
The Spanish moss hangs solemn in long streamers from the cypress,
The paths are soft and noiseless with dead needles of the pine,
The nights are still and fragrant, and I'll wait——
Ah!" she broke the measure with a despairing cry and struggled to get from my arms, as another voice, far away but familiar, began to call my name. Then slowly my eyes opened and beheld Bilkins looking down at me, in my own stateroom, where my clothes were lying as I had thrown them off the night before.
"I've called you twice, sir," he was saying. "It's almost ten o'clock, and I'm afraid your bath is cold."
"I want it cold," I murmured, staring up at him. "God, Bilkins, I've had a most extraordinary dream!"
"If it's bad don't tell it before breakfast, sir, whatever you do! Just hold on a minute, and I'll bring your tray right in!"