hour passed, not one word was spoken as they all sat crouching under the lee of the bulwarks. Charles was almost unconscious: a dark shadow was coming into his heart. Out of this darkness there seemed to dawn a vision of light.

It all came back to him as in a dream. There was the cosy room, and his wife with the baby in her lap, her sweet face beaming with a happy smile. There, too, was his sister and his boy-was he never to see their dear faces again?

At this thought the whole scene vanished, and he was startled into wakefulness by a heavy sea breaking over the brig, and burying him as in an overwhelming flood. It seemed as though the poor crazy craft, as she rolled and creaked, would never free herself, and the next plunge would be her last.

The long, interminable night at last came to an end. Darkness gave place to dawn, but their prospect was in no way bettered. The sky was still black and stormy, wild bits of scud flew over their heads, chasing each other in frantic haste.

They gazed at one another with a stupid sort of vacancy, hardly knowing what was taking place. Then they would doze for a time; then one would raise his head and look around him in silent despair, and then let it drop again. Charles felt that human nature could not endure this strain much longer. "Water! water!" he murmured. Oh, for one drop of water to quench my burning thirst!"

66

Towards noon there was a change, not in the force of the gale, but the clouds began to break, and the sky to clear. Then the sun came out and shone upon them, but it was cold and hard, and the aspect of the sky was menacing. Still, the comparative warmth of the sun's rays mitigated, to some extent, the piercing strength of the blast, and the men began to rouse themselves. After a time the wind, instead of blowing continuously, came in fierce gusts, and then dropped rapidly.

with difficulty clambered up the main shrouds. He shaded his eyes with his hands, and gazed long and earnestly in the distance from whence the sound came.

"Yes," he said, after a time, "there's a line of breakers to leeward, and a low coast beyond. The current is sucking us in towards the land fast, and in half-an-hour the poor old brig will be beaten into toothpicks." "Can nothing be done?" asked Charles. "Nothing, sir; nothing but to try to save our lives when she goes ashore; the wind and the tide are both setting to the current."

For half-an-hour they clung on in a group, awaiting with anxiety the final crisis which no human aid could avert. The nearer they got to the reef, the more portentous was the aspect of the breakers, and more ominous the roaring of the surf. Fathom by fathom the distance lessened. They were now close to the edge of the breakers, and so deafening was their noise, as they dashed upon the reef, that the surgeon could scarcely hear Pressley's voice, as he called out, "Stand by, lads, stand by; it's everybody for himself, and God for us all!"

For a minute or two the old brig seemed to hang off, as though she was making a last struggle for life. Suddenly she rose on an enormous billow, and was carried forward with terrific speed. They had scarcely time to comprehend the full amount of their peril, when the brig struck heavily. The force of the blow was so great that every timber in the old craft quivered, and the foremast went by the board. Another minute and the vessel swung round broadside to the sea, and they were all thrown together struggling into the water. At this instant another sea, more huge and more angry than the last, poured over the vessel's side, burying them in the flood. When the surgeon partially recovered himself, he found himself alone on the wreck. Crawling up to windward, he looked out, and there, floating away to leeward, on the top of an enormous billow, were several black forms, which he knew to be those of his late companions.

The sea subsided quickly as the gale lost its force, and by one o'clock it seemed as What would be their fate, and what would though the danger from that source was over. be his? These were the thoughts which Suddenly one of the men raised his head flashed across his mind. Though at ordinary -a sound like the booming of a gun smote times he was a good and fearless swimmer, his ear. "What's that!" he cried. Charles now he was so numbed, so worn and weak listened. Yes, there was a sound, like from want of food and exhaustion that there distant thunder.

"It's breakers," said Pressley; we must be near the land."

He loosened himself from his lashing, and

seemed little chance of his ever reaching the land. Billow after billow swept over the poor doomed brig, each shock causing her to break up more and more, till at last an enormous

The house was silent and still; even Joe, who at ordinary times always had a grin at his command, was now quite sobered. "If misses 'ud oney get better, and master could come home and give me a good blowing up, I should feel better," he said. "I know I used to be a terrible worry to him, playing marbles instead of going out with the physic; but if he could only come back I'd be better, that I would."

sea lifted her from the rocks, and carried her if she recovered it would be little short of a violently across the reef. With a crash she miracle. struck again. There was a tearing and rending of planks, the remaining mast went by the board, and in another moment the surgeon was struggling among the breakers. An instant afterwards he found himself lifted up and carried forward with irresistible force. Then, immediately behind him, came a roar and a rush of water, a huge mountain-like sea curled above him, and an avalanche of water was poured upon his head. No words can describe the confusion of thought and feeling which passed through the surgeon's mind as he was hurled forward, tossed and beaten, on the crest of that ruthless sea. On, on went the sea till it spent itself in harmless fury on the low, sandy beach. Charles had just sense enough left to feel that his feet touched the ground. He threw himself forward and strove to reach the shore. But the underdraught was too much for him, and he was swept backwards till he was caught up by the next returning sea. When that had spent itself on the sands the struggle was over. He was nowhere to be seen.

CHAPTER V.-THE CALM AFTER THE STORM.

THE

HE great tempest of Christmas, 183-, will long be remembered. Along the western sea-board, especially that portion which borders on the Atlantic, the coast was strewn with wrecks. The gale which had commenced from the eastward, gradually veered round to the south, and the vessels which had sought shelter in bays and roadsteads of the Channel suddenly found themselves embayed, and many of them went on shore. But among the wrecks and losses no tidings came of the Fordhaven boat and her unfortunate crew.

For some days after the subsidence of the storm the surgeon's friends and the wives of the men who embarked in the boat cherished a hope that something might be heard of them. But this gradually died away as time passed. Nothing was heard of either boat or crew, and so at last speculation grew into certainty, and hope was extinguished.

Poor Lucy, it was a sad time for her! Her brother was lost, and her sister apparently sick unto death.

Mrs. Pressley had taken upon herself the office of nurse, and she and Lucy had been watching by the sick couch.

It was the crisis of the disorder, and Dr. Pemberton had said that if she lived through the night there might be a chance of her recovery. Pale, wan, and almost lifeless lay the poor young wife. The grey, cheerless dawn of a January morning was just breaking in the east.

Mrs. Pressley, always hopeful, always saying and doing the right thing at the right time, had opened the Bible and commenced to read, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble." She paused. Lucy looked up. The words seemed written expressly for her. She had never realized their deep significance till this the time of need. There was a soothing balm in them which fell upon her stricken heart. Yes; science, skill, and wonderful care had all done their work, and now their only reliance was on God's infinite mercy.

There

The invalid stirred and moaned. she lay for some time without motion; so still was she, that Lucy was obliged to stoop down to see if she had ceased to breathe. An hour passed, during which Ellen lay in the same state, hovering between life and death.

The day grew brighter, the sun shone into the room with a genial warmth, and then Dr. Pemberton came. His report was favourable. The fever had spent itself, but she was deplorably weak, and the question was would she have strength to rally? She was sleeping calmly, and on the revivifying influence of that sleep her life depended.

More than three weeks had elapsed. Ellen Woodman, after she got home from her excursion to the Head, was put to bed at once, for she was in a high fever. For some days Hours passed and she still slept on. Then her life was despaired of. Her existence she awoke and the first word she uttered was hung, as it were, upon a thread. Dr. Pem-" Charles." There was so much tenderness berton, whom Lucy had called in, said that in the tone in which she murmured his dear

name, so much pathos in her trembling voice, contrast to the querulous repinings of the that Lucy was dumb. What was she to do? invalid. If ever a woman acted the part of How was she to tell her the sad, the dreary the Good Samaritan under the most trying truth? She could not speak, she could only circumstances it was she. She, too, was a hide her face and weep. widow, and yet she bore up bravely. It was not that she did not love her husband; it was not that she did not feel her bereavement; it was that she could bow her head and bend her will to that of the Infinite Being who had deemed this stern discipline necessary.

Mrs. Pressley came to the rescue. She smoothed her pillows, whispering softly, "You must not speak, and Dr. Pemberton has forbidden us to talk to you."

Ellen gave a weary sigh, and fell asleep again.

Death was hovering near. He had been brooding over the house all the night. It was only God's mercy which had kept him back; if his hand was withdrawn, Dr. Pemberton's was powerful to save. But the Everlasting Arms were there, and the patient still slept.

The love which was growing up between these two was strange, but very beautiful. The first strong, impassioned grief of the surgeon's widow had touched the finer chords in the heart of the poor boatman's wife. She saw how deeply the sorrow had stricken home into Ellen's heart, and tenderly, pitifully, and prayerfully she sought for the means to heal the wound.

For two days more the struggle continued. Her debility was so great that at times there Ellen saw and felt this, and was grateful. seemed no hope. Dr. Pemberton had said She knew that no friend, no mother, could that, but for Mrs. Pressley's skill and watchful, have dealt more affectionately, more generunremitting care, Ellen could not have ously with her peevishness and irritability lasted four-and-twenty hours. At last Mrs. than she had, and she honoured and loved Pressley's devotion triumphed, and Mrs. her for it. There was, too, a loftiness in Woodman was pronounced out of danger. the trust of this meek and lowly woman, We need not follow the poor invalid through her somewhat protracted recovery. She gained strength daily, but slowly. course the truth had to be told her at last. Never had a poor, weak woman a keener sorrow to contend with. Her husband, her darling, her pride, and her support was gone. Gone for ever. Her eyes would never rest on his dear form again; his circling arms would never more be around her; his manly voice would never more cheer her loneliness. He was gone, never, never to return. "It is hard; yes, it is hard," she would say when she was alone, and then turn her face to the wall and weep long and passionately. She knew, no one better, that this was wrong and weak and foolish, but she could not help it. The time had not come when she could say It all came back at last. God's infinite from her heart, "Thy will be done." The love broke all the barriers down. What a very mercies with which God had helped her, happy day was that! The bands were loosed, the brightness, the serene calm of her married her perplexities were all solved, the earthlife, the love of a good man, and the happi-born clouds had all vanished. Now sweet ness of her home had dimmed, or rather hope lit up the narrow path she was treading, obscured, the effulgence of the far-off heaven. and with a calm and trustful heart she rested It was not that she did not believe, it was not on her God.

a grandeur in her endurance that made Ellen ashamed of her own petulance. Of Mrs. Pressley's mind, spite of her want of education and humble exterior, was as strong as it was tender. She saw where the canker lay, and she was determined to probe the wound to the lowest depths before she applied the healing balm. She acted wisely and skilfully, and she was rewarded at last.

that she doubted; it was that she had bound

herself with earthly ties from which she had no desire to be loosed.

It was at this time that Mrs. Pressley's character stood out in bold relief. Her patience, her self-abnegation, her tenderness, and her hopeful trust-all formed a striking

After all, it was what she did and looked, not what she said, that most deeply affected Ellen. She had known what it was to bask in the sunshine of a Saviour's love. She had felt the influence of that refreshing dew which she knew was being shed abroad in that faithful woman's heart, and she began to long for the share of both.

R

CHAPTER VI.-SUNSHINE AGAIN.

ATHER more than a month had passed since that fatal December night when Charles Woodman and his five companions had embarked in the boat, and Ellen was just able to leave her bed and come down into the drawing-room.

A cheerful fire was burning in the grate, and Ellen, carefully pillowed and wrapped in shawls, was reclining on a couch, drawn up near to the hearth, and by her side, on a low seat, was Lucy.

Mrs. Pressley, in her widow's weeds, was seated by the table, silently sewing. They were a very quiet, but not unhappy, trio. As they were sitting thus, there came a knock at the door, and then a stir in the hall.

Ellen's heart beat wildly, why she knew not. She felt ready to faint, but she mastered herself sufficiently to say, "Who is it ? "

"I don't know," replied Lucy.

At this moment the door was opened, and Dr. Pemberton entered, followed by a series of complex and most unearthly sounds, such as it would be difficult to describe. It was Joe, who, in addition to this, was making his face undergo a variety of contortions it was wonderful to witness. Anyone looking at him might have thought he was going to have a fit.

boy that he did not understand it, but it sank into his heart. Joe was not ungrateful, and the loss of his kind friend and master was a sad blow to him.

On the first day of the surgeon's loss, after Ellen had been brought home from her excursion to the lighthouse, the servants seemed to lose their heads, and all was confusion and disorder. One consequence of this was the nursery was deserted, and little Charley was left to his own devices. Tired at last of following these, dirty and hungry, the child crawled down stairs, where he found Joe, neglected and forlorn, sitting on the bottom step, crying.

Charley, being in a sympathetic mood, followed suit. This set Joe on his metal It wouldn't do to have the little master crying like that.

Crying won't do no good, you know, Master Charley," said Joe, oracularly. "That won't bring your poor papa back; we must cheer up, and make the best of it. I'm jolly hungry, and I daresay you ain't had no dinner. Let us go and see what we can forage."

The two wended their way to the kitchen, and Joe plied the child plentifully with breadand-butter, not forgetting to take good care of himself. This done, he washed little Charley's face, tidied his frock and pinafore, and then took him back to the surgery.

Like most boys, he had a love of the marvellous. He had read "Jack, the Giant Killer," and "Sindbad, the Sailor," and, as he phrased it, "oceans of fairy tales," and so on. Taking little Charley in his lap, he began, in his own quaint way, to detail some of the most exciting and suitable stories in his fairy repertory. Charley listened with openeyed wonder. It was thus, late in the day, that Mrs. Pressley found them occupied.

Up to the time of his entering the surgeon's service, Joe had always been set down as an incorrigible. There was no absolute vice in the boy, but there was no dependence to be placed on him. He was one of those boys who are always absent when they are wanted, and always present when they are not; the torment of masters and the worry of maids. But now Joe was a reformed character. In his incorrigible state he had always had his good! Charley, having once tasted of the sweets points. He was never cruel to animals, and of Fairyland, was always hankering after never stood by and saw a big boy thrashing a more; and after this, if ever he was missed, little one without coming to the rescue of the he was sure to be found in the surgery with weaker party. In short, there was always a Joe. That young gentleman had now taken hopeful side to Joe's character, seeing that entire possession there, and it was his fancy he was a favourite with cats and little children. to keep it in just the same-if not in better Joe had taken his master's loss to heart in a-order than it was when his master was manner few had expected. Up to the time alive. The best part of his occupation of his entering Mr. Woodman's service the world had given him more kicks than good words, and he had been growing day by day harder and more callous. But now all this was altered. The surgeon had looked at the best side of the boy's character-had been kind and had spoken words of encouragement to him. This, at first, was all so new to the and all of a muddle."

was gone: there were no bottles to wash, no
pills to make, no patients to let in, and no
physic to take out; but Joe polished the
scales and dusted the bottles, and kept every-
thing in apple-pie order. "If master ever
should come home," he would
say, "I
shouldn't like him to find things neglected

Meantime, Mrs. Pressley, who had been standing spell-bound, glanced towards the door. Her heart gave a great bound. She "Read," retorted the cook, contemptu- tottered forward a few steps, and then sank ously: "yes, it's all very well to put such in her husband's arms. things in books, that's easy enough; but people ain't raised from the dead after that fashion, in real earnest."