He lay like a log, his face in the stream.

Pushing him before me, I rounded the horn, and, with much ado, dragged him up to a sloping gravelly beach, where I got his head on dry land, his legs being still in the water.

I turned him over and looked eagerly.

Lo! it was no Glasdale, but the drowned face of Brother Thomas! Then something seemed to break in my breast; blood gushed from my mouth, and I fell on the sand and gravel.

Footsteps I heard of men running to us.