Then the river itself
appeared before him, cold and grey with the November frosts, and
on its agitated surface he saw a little dimpled hand disappearing
from view, while the shriek of the dark-eyed Swede told that her
child was gone. A plunge--a fearful struggle--and he held the
limp, white object in his arms; he bore it to the shore; he heard
them say that he had saved its life, and then he turned aside to
change his dripping garments and warm his icy limbs. This was the
first picture brought to his mind by Edith Hastings' voice. The
second was a sadder one, and he groaned aloud as he remembered how
from the time of the terrible cold taken then, and the severe
illness which followed, his eyesight had begun to fail--slowly,
very slowly, it is true--and for years he could not believe that
Heaven had in store for him so sad a fate. But it had come at
last--daylight had faded out and the night was dark around him.
Once, in his hour of bitterest agony, he had cursed that Swedish
baby, wishing it had perished in the waters of the Rhine, ere he
saved it at so fearful a sacrifice.
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