She heard the casement struck, and the tear of the lead and tinkle of broken glass on the brick floor, and then something fell at her feet with a metallic click.
When she recovered herself, the figure was gone, but the wind piped and blew chill through the rent lattice.
How many minutes passed before she recovered herself sufficiently to rise and light a candle she never knew, nor did it matter. When she had obtained a light she stooped with it, and groped upon the floor.
* * * * * *
Mrs. Sharland was awakened by a piercing scream.
She sprang from her bed and rushed into the adjoining room. There stood Mehalah, in the light of the broken candle lying melting and flaring on the floor, her hair fallen about her shoulders, her face the hue of death, her lips bloodless, her eyes distended with terror, gazing on the medal of Paracelsus, which she held in her hand, the sea-water dripping from the wet riband wound about her fingers.
'Mother! Mother! He is drowned. I have seen him. He came and returned me this.'
Then she fell senseless on the floor, with the medal held to her heart.
CHAPTER VIII.
WHERE IS HE?