After a time Aldous felt himself swaying and rocking, as though tossed gently on the billows of a sea.  This was the first thought that took shape in his struggling brain—­he was at sea; he was on a ship in the heart of a black night, and he was alone.  He tried to call out, but his tongue seemed gone.  It seemed a very long time before day broke, and then it was a strange day.  Little needles of light pricked his eyes; silver strings shot like flashes of weblike lightning through the darkness, and after that he saw for an instant a strange glare.  It was gone in one big, powderlike flash, and he was in night again.  These days and nights seemed to follow one another swiftly now, and the nights grew less dark, and the days brighter.  He was conscious of sounds and buffetings, and it was very hot.

Out of this heat there came a cool, soft breeze that was continually caressing his face, and eyes, and head.  It was like the touch of a spirit hand.  It became more and more real to him.  It caressed him into a dark and comfortable oblivion.  Out of this oblivion a still brighter day roused him.  His brain seemed clear.  He opened his eyes.  A white cloud was hovering over them; it fell softly; it was cool and gentle.  Then it rose again, and it was not a cloud, but a hand!  The hand moved away, and he was looking into a pair of wide-open, staring, prayerful eyes, and a little cry came to him, and a voice.

“John—­John——­”

He was drifting again, but now he knew that he was alive.  He heard movement.  He heard voices.  They were growing nearer and more distinct.  He tried to cry out Joanne’s name, and it came in a whispering breath between his lips.  But Joanne heard; and he heard her calling to him; he felt her hands; she was imploring him to open his eyes, to speak to her.  It seemed many minutes before he could do this, but at last he succeeded.  And this time his vision was not so blurred.  He could see plainly.  Joanne was there, hovering over him, and just beyond her was the great bearded face of Donald MacDonald.  And then, before words had formed on his lips, he did a wonderful thing.  He smiled.

“O my God, I thank Thee!” he heard Joanne cry out, and then she was on her knees, and her face was against his, and she was sobbing.

He knew that it was MacDonald who drew her away.

The great head bent over him.

“Take this, will ’ee, Johnny boy?”

Aldous stared.

“Mac, you’re—­alive,” he breathed.

“Alive as ever was, Johnny.  Take this.”

He swallowed.  And then Joanne hovered over him again, and he put up his hands to her face, and her glorious eyes were swimming seas as she kissed him and choked back the sobs in her throat.  He buried his fingers in her hair.  He held her head close to him, and for many minutes no one spoke, while MacDonald stood and looked down on them.  In those minutes everything returned to him.  The fight was over.