He was back again, awake.

With a last effort he drew himself up on a huge rock that stands lonely in the wash of the bay.

Then he cried out, "Andree!" and fell senseless--safe.
The storm went down.

The cold, fast-travelling moon came out, saw the one living thing in that wild bay, and hurried on into the dark again; but came and went so till morning, playing hide-and-seek with the man and his Ararat.
Daylight saw him, wet, haggard, broken, looking out over the waste of shaken water.

Upon the shore glared the stone of the vanished City of Ys in the warm sun, and the fierce pumas trod their grumbling way.
Sea-gulls flew about the quiet set figure, in whose brooding eyes there were at once despair and salvation.
He was standing between two worlds.