am not mad? I have not dreamt it, have I? I was drowning; oh yes, I was drowning—is it long ago? Who brought me home? Is the boat safe?'
'I brought you home, dear.'
'You! Tell me about it; tell me quick! I do not think I am mad. I am sure there was a storm; I was sure I went underneath the sea, down—down—down. The water was in my mouth and in my ears. I have not dreamt it. Where is the boat?'
'Be quiet; try to be calmer and I will tell you. Yes, you went out in the boat today and there has been a storm, a terrible storm. It is not over yet, but you are safe here.'
'Yes?'
She listened as a child listens to a tale, her eyes dilated, her lips parted, leaning still on one arm upon the goatskins before the fire. She was quite warm now; the colour had returned to her face, her curls were scarcely wet, and lay heavy and soft over her brows.
'Yes, you are safe here,' he answered her, afraid that her consciousness was still dim and her thoughts were vague, and speaking in the simplest and the clearest words
