It was strange to see us heart to heart in that moment of dread uncertainty; I doubt very much whether a more remarkable reunion had ever occurred on earth.
The clouds were all gone—she was mine, mine alone, be the time of my possession minutes or years.
I strained her to me, and she looked up from my arms, just as I had fondly pictured her doing, with an expression of angelic joy upon her face—the daylight was creeping in through the open cabin door, shaming the dim lamplight that had been our comfort all through that dreadful night, and rested with almost a benediction upon her sweet face.
Gustavus had managed to get his wife on deck, swathed as she was in cork belts. Alas! I knew too well their multiplicity would avail her little unless she could use common sense while battling with the waves.
We were alone in the cabin; Robbins had carried off little Carmencita, and I felt she would be saved if mortal power could affect it.
The yacht gave a tremendous shudder under the impact of a big wave, and instantly a hand of ice seemed to clutch my heart, for I believed the very end had come, and that disintegration was at hand.
But there was yet time.
It aroused me, however, to a consciousness of my duty, which was to neglect no opportunity for advancing our cause—our chances would be infinitely better on deck than when confined to the cabin, should the yacht break and be engulfed in the boiling sea.
“Come, beloved, we must get out of this; the only hope we have is to avoid being caught in the wreck when the awful moment arrives. Trust me, Hildegarde,” I said, bending and kissing her, not passionately, but with that holy affection we bestow upon the beloved one who perchance hovers on the portals of eternity.
“Now and evermore, husband!” was the answer she made, as she threw her arms about my neck and gave me one eager embrace.