"Quick! For God's sake! Hot water,—blankets!" I cried to Miss Grant's semi-petrified companion.
She stood and looked at me in horror and bewilderment. Then I remembered that my shouting was in vain, for she was stone-deaf.
But this good old lady's helplessness was short-lived.
"Lay her down," she cried; "I know how to handle this. If there's a spark of life in her I can bring her round."
I laid the limp form on the bed, on top of the spotless linen.
As I did so, I looked upon the pale face, with its eyes closed and the brine rolling in drops over those long, golden eyelashes; then upon the glorious sun-kissed hair now water-soaked and tangled.
I cried in my soul, "Oh, God!—is this the end and she so beautiful."
Already the elderly lady had commenced first aid, in a businesslike way. It was something I knew only a little about, so I went into the kitchen in a perspiring terror of suspense,—and I stood there by the stove, ready to be of assistance at any moment, should I be called.
After what seemed hours of waiting, I heard a moan, and through the moaning came a voice, sweet but pitiful, and breathing of agony.
"Oh! why did you bring me back? Why did you not let me die?"