“Where is he now?” cried Wilhelm shortly afterwards; “I see him no longer.”
“Yes, there he comes up again,” said another; “but his strength is leaving him.”
“On! on!” cried Wilhelm; “he will be drowned if we do not come to his help. Only see—he sinks!”
Otto had lost all power; his head disappeared beneath the water. The friends had nearly reached him; Wilhelm and several of the best swimmers flung from themselves boots and coats, sprang into the sea, and dived under the water. A short and noiseless moment passed. One of the swimmers appeared above water. “He is dead!” were the first words heard. Wilhelm and the three others now appeared with Otto; the boat was near oversetting as they brought him into it. Deathly pale lay he there, a beautifully formed marble statue, the picture of a young gladiator fallen in the arena.
The friends busied themselves about him, rubbing his breast and hands, whilst two others rowel toward the land.
“He breathes!” said Wilhelm.
Otto opened his eyes; his lips moved; his gaze became firmer; a deep crimson spread itself over his breast and countenance; he raised himself and Wilhelm supported him. Suddenly a deep sigh burst from his breast; he thrust Wilhelm from him, and, like a madman, seized an article of dress to cover himself with; then, with a convulsive trembling of the lips, he said to Wilhelm, who held his hand, “I HATE YOU!”
CHAPTER VI
—“Art thou Prometheus, pierced with wounds?
The Vulture thou that tugs at his heart?”
J. CHR. V. ZEDLITZ’S Todtenkränze.