nlight 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."

I made no effort to say more; I could only lie in silence and gaze up
at her, pressing the hands resting so frankly within my own. Indeed,
we needed no words in that hour; our hearts had spoken, and
thenceforward we were one.

Suddenly the heavy boat lurched beneath us, to some quick impetus that
sent a shudder through every inch of it; and I heard a heavy splash
alongside, which instantly brought me upright, anxiously grasping the
rail.

"May Heaven help him!" cried Burns excitedly, and pointing out at the
black waters. "The Frenchman has gone overboard!"

"Overboard?" I echoed, striving to regain my feet. "Did he fall?"

"Fall? No; it was a dive off the back seat here. Save me! but he went
into it like a gull."

We sought for him long and vainly, peering over those dark swirling
waters, calling his name aloud, and striking flint on steel in hope to
guide him by the spark. Nothing appeared along the rolling surface, no
answering cry came from the black void; De Croix had disappeared into
the depths, as desperate men go down to death. Suddenly, as I leaned
over, sick at heart, peering into the dimness, Toinette drew near and
touched me softly.

"Let us not mourn," she said, in strange quietness. "No doubt 't is
better so."

"How?" I questioned, shocked at her seemingly heartless words. "Surely
you cannot rejoice at such a loss?"

"'T is not a loss," she answered firmly, and the soft moon-rays were
white upon her face. "He has only gone back to her we left behind; it
was the beckoning hand of love that called him through the waters. Now
it is only ours to pray that he may find her."

CHAPTER XXXVI

IN THE NEW GRAY DAWN

My anxious glance wandered from the face I so dearly loved, out where
those dark restless waters merged into the brooding mystery of the
black night. How unspeakably dreary, lonely, hopeless it all was!
Into what tragic unknown fate had this earliest comrade of my manhood
been remorselessly swept? Was all indeed well with him? or ha