Stronger and more strong it grew, beating on him in heavy unnatural waves, till his reason seemed to reel and sink, and he remembered naught but Beatrice, knew naught save that her very life was with him now.
He stretched out his arms towards the place where she should be.
"Beatrice," he whispered to the empty air, "Beatrice! Oh, my love! my sweet! my soul! Hear me, Beatrice!" There came a pause, and ever the unearthly sympathy grew and gathered in his heart, till it seemed to him as though separation had lost its power and across dividing space they were mingled in one being.
A great gust shook the house and passed away along the roaring depths.
Oh! what was this?
Silently the door opened, and a white draped form passed its threshold.

He rose, gasping; a terrible fear, a terrible joy, took possession of him.

The lightning flared out wildly in the eastern sky.

There in the fierce light she stood before him--she, Beatrice, a sight of beauty and of dread.

She stood with white arms outstretched, with white uncovered feet, her bosom heaving softly beneath her night-dress, her streaming hair unbound, her lips apart, her face upturned, and a stamp of terrifying calm.
"In the wide, blind eyes uplift Thro' the darkness and the drift." Great Heaven, she was asleep! Hush! she spoke.
"You called me, Geoffrey," she said, in a still, unnatural voice.