“WHEN THAT WHICH DREW FROM OUT THE BOUNDLESS DEEP—TURNS AGAIN HOME”
When Luke Sparrow reached the beach, he tore at his boot-laces, flung
off his coat and, in less than twenty seconds, was swimming up the
sunlit way, his eyes dazzled by the golden glory, his heart throbbing
from his rapid race down the cliff.
He seemed to have burst invisible shackles which hitherto had held him
captive.
“Free!” he shouted. “Free! On to the sunrise! No going back!”
Wild sea birds, flying above him, swooped and dipped, till their wings
almost touched his face as they passed.
He laughed, and echoed their wild cries.
“God give me wings, that I may mount and rise!”
He dived into green depths where fishes flopped against his face, and
waving arms of giant sea-weed tried to catch him as he passed.
He came to the surface gasping; dashed the water from his eyes; then
settled into a steady breast stroke, swimming out to sea, straight to
the sun.
He swam. He swam. He swam. On, toward the shoreless horizon.
His heart pounded in his ears. Still he swam on.
His arms felt like lead. He folded them across his breast and swam
without them.
His legs could move no more. He turned upon his back and lay, like a bit
of driftwood, resting.
He grinned at the blue sky above him.
“Flotsam and jetson,” he remarked confidentially to a swooping gull.
“‘Returned Empty. This side up, with care.’ That’s more to the point
just now. Don’t peck at my eyes, you greedy brute! Wait a week for
that.... Here lies a poor derelict on the ocean of Time, at the mercy of
every wind of circumstance.... Swim, you fool! Yonder lies your one way
Home.”
He turned over, and swam on and on, into the dazzling glory.
At length a dream-like sense of unreality came over him, a strange,
sweet peace; a wish to fall asleep.
He heard church bells in the distance, growing nearer.
At first he thought they came floating out to sea from the land he had
left behind, and he ceased swimming that he might listen.
Then they pealed louder, coming up—up—from the green depths beneath him.
_Come down and find us!
Come down and find us!_
He looked down and instantly sank—deep, deep, deep into the cool
silence. Instinctively he held his breath, threw up his hands and rose
to the surface; gasped, took a long breath; raised his arms above his
head and went down like a stone.
Deeper, deeper, deeper.
The church bells pealed so loudly, he thought their clanging clamour
would burst the drums of his ears.
_They lose their immortality
They lose their immortality
Those who do this
Those who do this
Those who do this
Those who do this
They lose their immortality._
He was entangled in flapping sea-weed, but he fought himself free. It
was very dark.
He threw up his arms and rose slowly to the surface.
The sun seemed miles above him, a pale phantom, luminous through the
green waters.
It grew brighter. He reached the surface. It blazed upon him.
The church bells stopped suddenly. Everything stopped. His heart
stopped. There was a great silence.
He was too tired to breathe. He clasped his hands, lifted them slowly
above his head, and went down for the third time.
As he sank he heard the head-master say: “Luke Sparrow—first prize”; he
saw the glitter of the Mayor’s grand chain. All his school life rushed
backward through his mind, and then—he was flinging down a rattle on the
nursery floor, and the matron’s voice was saying: “Poor little ‘Returned
Empty.’ He won’t even play with his rattle.”
“I’m really drowning now,” he thought. “The fools are right. This is my
past life.”
“_What does he want?_” said the matron’s voice. “_Who is he calling?_”
Then—something burst in his brain, and in flaming letters of living fire
a name illumined the icy blackness.
“MIRIAM! My wife! Miriam, my Love, my life! Good God, I can’t leave
her!... Miriam, I’m coming! Hold on, I am coming!”
The weeds had him this time, but he fought like a madman.
“Miriam! Belovèd!”
His lungs were bursting, but he kept out the water. Tons weight pressed
down his hands, but he lifted them.
“Miriam, my Love! I am coming!”
The sun reappeared, a pale disc—no, by God! a dead face!
He was caught again. Sea-weed? No; white hands, catching at his throat,
throttling him. Curse them! What matter they, while his wife waits. He
fought on.
“My Love, I am coming!” He broke free and rose—rose—rose.
The sun—Great God!—the air!
He breathed, choked, gasped, breathed again; lay on the surface, and
panted. His ribs seemed jammed upon his heart; but, as he breathed, they
lifted. His lungs expanded; his sight cleared; his heart beat more
steadily.
“Oh, belovèd! Miriam! Miriam! Are you there? All else is a dream, save
our great love, my perfect, perfect mate.”
Slowly he turned and looked toward the shore.
Far away, so far away; but he could see the line of cliffs and the
house—his home and hers—standing clear against the fir woods. The upper
windows seemed on fire, as they reflected the gold of the sunrise.
He measured the distance between himself and the shore. Could he swim
it?
He started a slow breast stroke, his eyes upon those flaming windows.
Then he remembered the telescope. He made out the balcony.
Dear God! Was she watching? Of course she was watching.
He fancied he could see a white figure.
He waved his arm and smiled. A glory of love was on his face.
“Miriam,” he said, knowing the powerful lens brought him quite near and
she would see him speak; “Miriam, you said I should remember all, if I
remembered your name. And I do; oh, my belovèd, I do!”
As he swam, the sunlight caught the wedding-ring—her wedding-ring-upon
his finger. He missed a stroke to hold it up, then press it to his lips.
“I am coming, Sweet! I am coming!”
Then he swam on.
Love, surging through his soul, gave him strength.
The shore drew nearer. He could see her now, standing at the telescope.
“Miriam! Miriam!”
Her dear arms would be waiting. Her lips—her tenderness.
Could he last out? He swam feebly, but steadily.
As he neared the shore, a swiftly flowing current caught him. It held
him stationary, and his strength was ebbing.
One chance remained. He might win through under water. He took a deep
breath, dived, and disappeared.
Swift, quick strokes—“Miriam! Miriam!” Desperate work; but for her dear
sake!
He rose at last. He was through the current and under the lee of the
cliff. He could see the house no longer, but the zigzag path was there.
His coat and his boots lay under the rocks.
He fought feebly with the water. His breath came in groans.
No; he could not do it, after all. Not another stroke. He must sink; he
must give up, and sink.
He sank—and felt sand beneath his feet.
With a great cry he struggled through the water, reeled up the beach,
and dropped like a log beside the rocks.