Desperate as the chance was, it was still a chance, and to my mind the only one.  I glanced behind; a dim figure or two dotted the white sand, and my heart lifted a silent prayer to God for guidance.  A second later I was beyond my depth, breasting the unknown waters, swimming steadily toward the place where that mysterious spark had glimmered.  Once again it flashed, the barest glimpse of light through the intense gloom; and I pressed on with new vigor, certain now it was a real beacon.  But I was so weakened by wounds and spent from exertion, and such desperate work is swimming fully clad, that my progress proved slow; and twice I was compelled to pause, paddling slowly on my back, in the buffeting of the waves, in order to gain strength to renew the struggle.  I almost lost heart in the black loneliness, as the swirling water swept me back and confused me with its ever-tossing motion.  Once I went down from sheer weakness, choking in a cloud of spray that swept my face; and doubtless I should have let the struggle end in despair even then, had not the spark leaped up once more through the deep haze; and this time so close was it that my ears caught the clashing of the flint and steel.

With the new hope of life thus given me, I pushed grimly forward, using the silent Indian stroke that never tires, my eyes at the surface level where the light of the moon glimmered feebly.  At last I saw it,—­the black lumpy shadow of the boat.  I must have splashed a little in my weakness and excitement, for I plainly perceived the figure of a man hastily leap to his feet, with an oar-blade uplifted threateningly above his head.

“Don’t strike, Burns!” I managed to cry aloud.  “It’s Wayland.”

The next moment, with scarce so much as a breath remaining in my battered body, I laid hand upon the boat’s side, and clung there panting and well-nigh spent.  I felt his hands pressed under my arms, and then, with the exercise of his great strength, he drew me steadily up, inch by inch, until I topped the rail, and fell forward into the bottom of the boat.  An instant I rested thus, with tightly closed eyes, my head reeling, my breath coming in sobs of pain, every muscle of my strained body throbbing in misery.  Scarcely conscious of what was being done about me, I could still realize that arms touched my neck, that my head was gently lifted to a softer resting-place, and that a hand, strangely tender, brushed back from my forehead the wet tangled hair.  The touch was thrilling; and I unclosed my wearied eyes, looking up into the sympathetic face of Mademoiselle.  The faint moonlight rested upon it gently, touching her crown of hair with silver; and within the dark depths of her eyes I read clearly the message I had waited for so long.

“Toinette!” I murmured, half conscious.

She bowed her head above me, and I felt a sudden plash of tears that could not be restrained.

“Do not try to speak now, John!” she whispered softly, her finger at my lips.  “I can only thank the good God who has brought you back to me.”