.

FOOL'S LUCK.
My return to consciousness seemed to afford me such sensations as a diver may experience as he rises up and up through the depth of water he has plumbed--or as a disembodied soul may know in its gentle ascent towards Heaven.

Indeed the latter parallel may be more apt.

For through the mist that suffused my senses there penetrated from overhead a voice that seemed to invoke every saint in the calendar on the behalf of some poor mortal.

A very litany of intercession was it, not quite, it would appear, devoid of self-seeking.
"Sainted Virgin, restore him! Good St.Paul, who wert done to death with a sword, let him not perish, else am I lost indeed!" came the voice.
I took a deep breath, and opened my eyes, whereat the voice cried out gladly that its intercessions had been heard, and I knew that it was on my behalf that the saints of Heaven had been disturbed in their beatific peace.