Then, all at once, light! Bright, golden sunlight, a mild, refreshingly fragrant air, all pain away, an elastic, feather-light body—and the majestic sound of the sea.
Where was he? Where—where!
Oh, he knew; he felt in himself where he was.
He recognized the feeling of self-consciousness, although he had not recalled his surroundings.
But he heard the ocean—heard it roaring grandly as only it roars on a level, sandy coast; and he heard the whistling of wind in the rushes. And he watched the play of the grey-green waves as they came rolling in—their long lines of shining breakers crested with combing white, dashing and splashing and foaming over the flat stretches of sand.
He had seen it all for years, and every day it was the same, from age to age.
And when he glanced round to see if his little friend Wistik, whom he hoped to find, was also here, he saw, close beside him, a bright little figure sitting quite still and gazing out over the sea.
It was not Wistik. No, for this one had the large, gauzy wings of a dragon-fly, and a little mantle of delicate blue waving gently in the sea-breeze.
"Windekind!" exclaimed Johannes.
Then the bright being looked at him, and he recognized the dear, enigmatical eyes, and the exquisite hair—a bloom-like blonde like the mere sheen of gold—with its flower-crown of green and white.