On the identical flat rock in the Hole in the Wall where the steward of the Waldo had seated himself, after the wreck, Leopold placed his precious burden. He sat down by her side, utterly exhausted, and unable to speak. He breathed very hardly, groaning heavily at each respiration, for he had exerted himself to the verge of human endurance.
"O, Leopold," gasped poor Rosabel, gazing with tender interest upon her preserver, "you have saved me, but you have killed yourself!"
The gallant young man tried to speak, but he could only smile in his agony. Taking her hand, he pressed it, to indicate his satisfaction at what he had done.
"What shall I do?" cried the poor girl.
Leopold could only press her hand again; but she felt that she must do something for him. Throwing off her wet gloves, she began to rub his temples, to which he did not object. But in a few minutes more he was able to speak.
"I am only tired," gasped the boatman. "I shall be all right in a few moments."
Then the rain began to pour down in torrents. Leopold rose from the rock, and conducted Rosabel to an overhanging cliff, in the ravine, which partially sheltered them from the storm. The wind continued to howl, as though the squall had ended in a gale; but the rain soon ceased to fall, and Leopold helped his fair companion to the summit of the cliff.
"There is nothing left of the Rosabel," said Leopold, as he gazed down upon the white-capped billows which lashed the jagged rocks below. "She went to pieces like an egg-shell."
"Never mind the boat, Leopold. I am so thankful that our lives were spared," replied Rosabel.
"O, I don't care for the boat. I only thank God that you were saved. I thought we should both be dashed in pieces on the rocks."