On and on he wandered, and came out upon the sea-shore, on the barren rocks where the fierce light struck down, and the water moaned its low, perpetual wail of unrest. “Ah!” he said; “the sea will be more merciful; it, too, is wearied unto death and cannot sleep.”
Then Arthur rose up from the deep, and cried aloud:
“This sea is mine!”
“Your Eminence! Your Eminence!”
Montanelli awoke with a start. His servant was knocking at the door. He rose mechanically and opened it, and the man saw how wild and scared he looked.
“Your Eminence—are you ill?”
He drew both hands across his forehead.
“No; I was asleep, and you startled me.”
“I am very sorry; I thought I had heard you moving early this morning, and I supposed———”