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“I’ve landed,” and the words were greeted with a cheer from all on the deck of the Midshipman.

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“My God! can my son have gone out in the face of this terrible storm? It is the worst I have known upon the coast for years,” and Mrs. Merrill pressed her face against the window-glass, striving in vain to pierce the blackness without.

No longer confined to her bed by illness, it could now be seen that she was a handsome woman, hardly more than thirty-five, and with the indelible stamp of refinement upon her.

Her face wore a sad look, and no flush warmed the marble-like complexion.

Her eyes were large and dreamy, seeming to be looking backward into a past clouded with bitter memory rather than lighted with hope for the future.

She was dressed in a close-fitting robe of mourning, and a miniature breastpin, and band of gold upon her wedding-finger were the only things that relieved the severe plainness of her appearance.

Old Peggy, a woman who had lived here fifty years, but was strong and active, sat in a chair before a blazing pine knot, and in answer to the remark of Mrs. Merrill, chimed in, like Job’s comforter, with: