With
mighty strokes he sped towards it, reached it, grasped it, then his
trembling hands felt her body and lifted her up. She breathed, she
lived, and it depended on him to save her from the evil spirit, from
death. With one arm he held her to him, with the other he parted the
waters; but the lake seemed to turn to a mighty torrent that bore down
upon him with its heavy waves. He struggled, he fought with panting
breast, yet in vain, always in vain. He felt that his strength was being
exhausted. If no one came to his aid, he was lost; he raised his head to
look for help.
He saw his brother's gondola sailing as peacefully and undisturbed from
storm or accident as a swan in the moonlight, and the bitter thought
passed through his mind, that Wendelin was the lucky one, and that he had
been born to misfortune.
His arm was struggling with the tide once more, and this time more
successfully. Then Speranza opened her eyes, recognized him, and,
kissing him on the forehead, murmured: "My own love, how good you are!"
From the cliff the duchess called to him: "George, my best, my only
son!" His heart warmed within him, all his bitterness disappeared, and
the waves seemed to rock him and the burden in his arms as in a cradle.
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