“Oh, what does he see? Visions of God? Promise of life and peace and joy restored? Or is he dying; dying there, before my eyes? Nigel, my own, what is it?”
Slowly he turned and looked toward the shore; then started swimming, a steady breast stroke, slow but sure.
Her trembling fingers adjusted the focus, keeping pace with him.
His eyes met hers. A glory of love was on his face. He waved his arm and smiled. His lips moved and formed a word.
Yes, it was her name!
“Miriam,” he said; and again, “Miriam!”
“Oh, wonder beyond belief. He has remembered and is coming back to me; coming back a second time from the dead; but this time God-sent, God-given.”
She laughed softly and whispered tender words.
“Yes, darling, I know. Yes, your wife is here; just waiting here, as on those dear mornings long ago.... Swim carefully, my dearest boy. I do so dread the sea—so deep and treacherous.... Yes, I see the ring.... Oh, is that how you love me? No, don’t stop to answer ... Nigel, it takes so long.... Are you exhausted, darling? Oh, turn again and rest.... Nigel, you make no progress. Oh, my God, he is swimming, but he is not moving! He is caught by the current!... Ah!... No!... Yes! He is gone!”
She flew into her room and pealed the bell. Then back to the balcony, shrieking wildly. So near the shore, but gone.