l it felt to her feet! Now it was up to
her knees, now it reached her middle, and now the little wavelets beat
against her breast. But she would not go back, for there ahead of her
was the island, and the white flowers were so close that she could count
them, eight upon one bunch and twelve upon the next. Another step and
the water struck her in the face, one more and it closed above her head.
She rose, and a low cry broke from her lips.

Then, as in a dream, Lysbeth saw a skiff glide out from among the rushes
before her. She saw also a strange mutilated face, which she remembered
dimly, bending over the edge of the boat, and a long, brown hand
stretched out to clasp her, while a hoarse voice bade her keep still and
fear nothing.

After this came a sound of singing in her ears and--darkness.

When Lysbeth woke again she found herself lying upon the ground, or
rather upon a soft mattress of dry reeds and aromatic grasses. Looking
round her she saw that she was in a hut, reed-roofed and plastered with
thick mud. In one corner of this hut stood a fireplace with a chimney
artfully built of clay, and on the fire of turfs boiled an earthen pot.
Hanging from the roof by a string of twisted grass was a fish, fresh
caught, a splendid pike, and near to it a bunch of smoked eels. Over her
also was thrown a magnificent rug of otter skins. Noting these things,
she gathered that she must be in the hovel of some fisherman.

Now by degrees the past came back to Lysbeth, and she remembered her
parting with the man who called himself her husband; remembered also her
moonlight flight and how she had waded out into the waters of the great
mere to pluck the white flowers, and how, as they closed above her
head a hand had been stretched out to save her. Lysbeth remembered,
and remembering, she sighed aloud. The sound of her sighing seemed to
attract the attention of some one who was listening outside the hut; at
any rate a rough door was opened or pushed aside and a figure entered.

"Are you awake, lady?" asked a hoarse voice.

"Yes," answered Lysbeth, "but tell me, how did I come here, and who are
you?"

The figure stepped back so that the light from the open door fell full
upon it. "Look, Carolus van Hout's daughter and Juan Montalvo's wife;
those who have seen me once do not forget me."

Lysbeth sat up on the bed and stared at the gaunt, powerful form,
the deep-set grey eyes, the wide-spread nostrils, the scarred, high
cheek-