swim--or, rather, to keep afloat--and was overjoyed to find my arms and
legs answer to the call of the brain.

About me was blackest night and utter silence, save a low, unbroken
murmur, unlike any other sound, hardly to be heard. It was in my
effort to account for it that I first became aware of the fact that the
water was a stream, and a moving one--moving with incredible swiftness,
smooth and all but silent. As soon as I became convinced of this I
gave up all attempt to swim, and satisfied myself with keeping my head
above the surface and drifting with the current.

Then I thought of Harry, and called his name aloud many times. The
reverberations throughout the cave were as the report of a thousand
cannon; but there was no response.

The echoes became fainter and fainter and died away, and again all was
silence and impenetrable night, while I battled with the strong suction
of the unseen current, which was growing swifter and swifter, and felt
my strength begin to leave me.

Terror, too, began to call to me as the long minutes passed endlessly
by. I thought, "If I could only see!" and strained my eyes in the
effort till I was forced to close them from the dizzy pain. The utter,
complete darkness hid from me all knowledge of what I passed or what
awaited me beyond.

The water, carrying me swiftly onward with its silent, remorseless
sweep, was cold and black; it pressed with tremendous power against me;
now and then I was forced beneath the surface and fought my way back,
gasping and all but exhausted.

I forgot Desiree and Harry; I lost all consciousness of where I was and
what I was doing; the silent fury of the stream and the awful blackness
maddened me; I plunged and struggled desperately, blindly, sobbing with
rage. This could not have lasted much longer; I was very near the end.

Suddenly, with a thrill of joy, I realized that the speed of the
current was decreasing. Then a reaction of despair seized me; I tried
to strangle hope and resign myself to the worst. But soon there was no
longer any doubt; the water carried me slower and slower.

I floated with little difficulty, wondering--could it be an approach to
a smaller outlet which acted as a dam? Or was it merely a lessening of
the incline of the bed of the stream? I cursed the darkness for my
helplessness.

Finally the water became absolutely still, as I judged by the absence
of pressure on my body, and I turned sharply at a right angle a