over it, and now drooped in
a large bight which let him down into the seethe of water and foam that
had just rushed over the vessel, forcing it down on its beam ends.
Thurstane was four or five times tossed and as often submerged. The waves,
the wind, and the wreck played with him successively or all together. It
was an outrage and a torment which surpassed some of the tortures of the
Inquisition. First came a quick and breathless plunge; then he was
imbedded in the rushing, swirling waters, drumming in his ears and
stifling his breath; then he was dragged swiftly upward, the sling turning
him out of it. It seemed to him that the breath would depart from his body
before the transit was over. When at last he landed and was detached from
the cordage, he was so bruised, so nearly drowned, so every way exhausted,
that he could not stand. He lay for quite a while motionless, his head
swimming, his legs and arms twitching convulsively, every joint and muscle
sore, catching his breath with painful gasps, almost fainting, and feeling
much as if he were dying.

He had meant to help save the captain and sailors. But there was no more
work in him, and he just had strength to walk up to the village, a citizen
holding him by either arm. As soon as he could speak so as to be
understood, he asked, first in English and then in Spanish, "How is the
lady?"

"She is insensible," was the reply--a reply of unmeant cruelty.

Remembering how he had suffered, Thurstane feared lest Clara had received
her death-stroke in the slings, and he tottered forward eagerly, saying,
"Take me to her."

Arrived at the house where she lay, he insisted upon seeing her, and had
his way. He was led into a room; he did not see and could never remember
what sort of a room it was; but there she was in bed, her face pale and
her eyes closed; he thought she was dead, and he nearly fell. But a
pitying womanly voice murmured to him, "She lives," with other words that
he did not understand, or could not afterward recall. Trusting that this
unconsciousness was a sleep, he suffered himself to be drawn away by
helping hands, and presently was himself in a bed, not knowing how he got
there.

Meantime the tragedy of the wreck was being acted out. The sling broke
once, the sailor who was in it falling into the undertow, and perishing
there in spite of a rush of the townspeople. One of the two men who were
washed overboard at the first shock was also drowned. The rest es