ng
and young; the bridegroom--strong and happy; but there was a shade upon
his brow as he approached a stout elderly female, and said, sadly, "I
can't tell you, mother, how grieved I am that father is not with us
to-day. I would be quite willing to put it off, and so would Nora, for
a few days, but there is no appearance of the storm abating; and,
indeed, if even it stopped this moment, I don't think the relief-boat
could get off in less than a week."

"I know it, Tommy." (It seemed ridiculous to call a strapping,
curly-haired, bewhiskered, six-foot man "Tommy"!) "I know it, Tommy; but
it ain't of no use puttin' of it off. I've always 'ad a settled
conviction that anythink as is put off is as good as given up
altogether. No, no, my son; go on with the weddin'."

So the wedding went on, and Nora Vining, a dark-haired Plymouth maiden,
became Mrs Thomas Potter; and the breakfast was eaten, and the healths
were drunk, and the speeches made, and Mrs Potter, senior, wept
profusely (for joy) nearly all the time, into a white cotton
handkerchief, which was so large and strong that some of the guests
entertained the belief to the end of their lives that the worthy woman
had had it manufactured for her own special use on that great occasion.

Meanwhile the father, whose absence was regretted so much, and whose
heart would have rejoiced so much to have been there, remained in his
lonely dwelling, out among the mad whirlpools in the wildest past of the
raging sea. All day, and every day, his signal of distress streamed
horizontally in the furious gale, and fishermen stood on the shore and
wondered what was wrong, and wished so earnestly that the gale would go
down; but no one, not even the boldest among them all, imagined for a
moment that a boat could venture to leave the shore, much less encounter
the seething billows on the Eddystone. As each night drew on, one by
one the lights glimmered out above the rock, until the bright beams of
the fully illuminated lantern poured like a flood through the murky air,
and then men went home to their firesides, relieved to know that,
whatever might be wrong, the keepers were at all events able to attend
to their important duties.

Day after day Isaac Dorkin grew worse: he soon became delirious, and,
strong though he was, John Potter was scarcely able to hold him down in
bed. When the delirium first came on, John chanced to be in the lantern
just commencing to light up. When he was