His angel and his demon gone home together! And he left here! He wrote a few lines on the paper he had intended for Wardlaw, sprinkled them with sand, and put them in his bosom, then stretched himself out with a weary moan, like a dying dog, to wait the flow of the tide, and, with it, Death.

Whether or not his resolution or his madness could have carried him so far cannot be known, for even as the water rippled in, and, trickling under his back, chilled him to the bone, a silvery sound struck his ear.

He started to his feet, and life and its joys rushed back upon him.

It was the voice of the woman he loved so madly.
Helen Rolleston was on the water, coming ashore again in the little boat.
He crawled, like a lizard, among the boats ashore to catch a sight of her.

He did see her, was near her, unseen himself.