The glorious, entrancing light of day was shining on the raft, on the sparkling water, on his motionless companions—everywhere.
The raft was dancing on the bosom of a vast and mighty stream that rolled in the blessed sunlight between shores of sparkling green. He saw sloping hillsides and mangrove jungles, wind-tossed patches of reeds and waving palm trees, mountains shooting their rugged peaks heavenward, and billows of forest land rolling off into the distant horizon, while overhead was the deep blue vault of the sky, that perfect sky that had haunted his memory in many a dream—the sky that he had never hoped to see again. The air was redolent with perfume and melodious with the sweet notes of countless birds.
Flushed and trembling, Guy staggered, with new-found strength, to his feet.
“Saved! Saved! Saved!” he cried aloud. “Thank God! Melton! Canaris! Do you hear? The blessed sunlight is shining around us. Why don’t you answer? Why don’t you shout for joy?”
But no response came, and the five ghastly figures on the raft remained as stiff and motionless as before.
A swift change passed over Guy’s face.
“Merciful heavens!” he cried. “Can it be? All dead!”
He gasped for breath, beating the air with stiffened fingers, and then dropped like a log.
The warm sunlight still played on the raft, and the yellow tide of the river lapped the roughened logs with a soft and musical murmur.