they might come, to shew Tim there's his wife at least watching for him."

Adela tried to smile; "Mrs Heath, I thought you would let me come and watch with you, in case they should arrive; and my father is father is gone to see if he can hear of them. But if I feel so, what must it be for you and Peggy? You will think me

very selfish."

"Selfish, is it, Miss! Those that live about here know better; no, it's only what I used to be when I was a young woman, and first married to my Tim. Many and many is the night that I've sat to listen, and dreaded for the morning that might bring him a corpse to my door; and when the boys first went it was nearly as bad, but Tim always laughed when he came back: 'Peggy,' says he, 'you've but a poor heart, after all, and you've forgotten the sea can't drown any one without it's God's will it should do so.'

Adela felt that her trust, too, had been but small; but she still shuddered to hear the clanging surge on the beach, as each wave that broke shook the little cottage to its foundation, and the wind swept round it in eddies that seemed to threaten its ruin. Miss Flyn had been anxiously watching from the window, where the lamp was burning, and suddenly exclaimed that some one was coming. It proved to be the coastguard, who had just come to his beat, and who had called to say that the last boat had arrived, and had got in with difficulty.

It was impossible for any more to run in, as the tide had turned, and any vessel driven on shore while the gale lasted would be dashed to pieces. "The Lovely Peggy" had been seen before dark apparently making for another harbour, but it was thought she seemed in trouble; the other crew had been unable to get within hail, but had remarked there seemed more people than usual in the boat; whether one was a boy they could not tell. The rough sailor looked compassionately at the ladies, and promised to let them know if he heard any further news. The darkness passed slowly to the anxious watchers, and the grey light of morning revealed nothing but a wide waste of water and white foam, unbroken by a single sail. The little lamp had burnt down in its socket, and Adela, overpowered with fatigue, slept an uneasy sleep with her head resting on a chair beside her. Her bonnet had fallen back, and hung on her shoulders, and one tear was still stealing down her pale cheek. "She's a nice lady," said Mrs Tim, looking at her kindly, "and there's not many like her; but it's lucky she's not a fisherman's wife."

As the morning advanced, the wind went down. George, who had heard where his sister was, came to say that there was no news of the absent party, and Adela, with many thanks for Mrs Heath's kindness, determined at once to return home. There was nothing to do but to wait. The day wore away without tidings, but in the evening

came a messenger from Mr Edgerton, and a letter from Captain Stevens. They had heard nothing of the boat, but there was no cause for despair; the gale had been exceedingly heavy, and the fishing boats had been scattered in all directions, to find shelter as best they could. From some of the ports two or three were missing, and the Peggy might still turn up further from home: Adela would now not be able to have any tidings for a day or two.

She endeavoured to struggle against her own fears, that she might be all in all to those round her, and she sought where she had so often found it, strength to bear the suspense bravely. It had never been asked in vain, and the rest of the party little suspected the effort it cost her, as on the second morning, which was much calmer, she cheerfully proposed they should take a walk. The air had a beneficial effect, and she remained longer than she had at first thought possible. They were returning towards home, when their attention was attracted by a crowd upon the beach, composed chiefly of fishermen, who appeared to be examining something that had been brought up with the tide. George proposed they should go and see what it was they were looking at, as there were often curious things washed on shore. On reaching the spot, he spoke to the man outside the ring, who was nearest him, and who, on turning round and recognising the party, said, "You had better

not bring the lady here, sir." But Adela had heard the words; and quickened her step till she stood in the centre of the group. Upon the beach lay a piece of dark wood, which the last wave had cast up. It was the stern of a boat, and though partly broken, the word Peggy was still visible and entire. No one spoke; the nights of watching and anxiety had left Adela little strength, a film came over her eyes as she gazed, and she would have fallen had not the coastguard who had seen her at Mrs Heath's, and was the person who had spoken to George, caught her in his arms, and carried her out of the crowd up to Mr Edgerton's house.

CHAPTER XVII.

Visions of an old Sailor.

"There be some things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe that will never please. Write me a prologue; and let the prologue seem to say, We will do no harm, and Pyramus is not killed indeed."

HE breaking of a grey and cloudy morning saw

THE

her Majesty's ship Phoenix, thirty-two guns, beating up on her way home from a foreign station to Spithead. Neither in her outward or homeward passage had she encountered such bad weather as in the preceding night, which had been one of storm, and during many hours she had been scudding under bare poles, before a fierce gale, and in sight of a lee shore. The danger was passed; and though there still remained the angry swelling of a sea that had been lashed to fury by a tempest, there was nothing to impede her progress as she stood steadily on her course, with the wind, that still blew freshly, in her favour.

The lieutenant who was on watch had been