But this fear he did not heed as long as
she remained in sight, and--yes, across the surface of the warm moonlit
water he was slowly but surely gaining upon her.
On he swam, making strenuous effort at speed. He was growing exhausted
with the unaccustomed exercise; he knew that his strength would not hold
out much longer. He hardly knew what he hoped or dreamed would come to
pass when he overtook the sea-maiden, and yet he swam for dear love,
which was more to him than dear life, and, panting, he came close to
her.
The sea-maid turned about, and her face flashed suddenly upon him,
bright in the moonlight. She put out a glistening arm, perhaps in human
feebleness to ward him off, perhaps, in the strength of some unknown
means of defence, to warn him that at his peril he approached her.
Caius, reckless of everything, grasped the white wrist, and, stopping
his motion, knowing he could not lie mermaid-fashion with head reared in
the water, he turned on his back to float, still holding the small hand
in his. He held it, and retained his consciousness long enough to know
from that time forth that the hand had actually been in his--a living,
struggling hand, not cold, but warm. He felt, too, in that wonderful
power which we have in extreme moments of noting detail, that the hand
had a ring upon it--it was the left hand--and he thought it was a plain
gold ring, but it did not occur to him to think of a wedding-ring.
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