ngth which Crayford was not able to
resist. He broke away before the sailors could come to their officer's
assistance. Half-way down the length of the room he and Clara met one
another face to face. A new light sparkled in the poor wretch's eyes; a
cry of recognition burst from his lips. He flung one hand up wildly in
the air. "Found!" he shouted, and rushed out to the beach before any of
the men present could stop him.

Mrs. Crayford put her arms round Clara and held her up. She had not made
a movement: she had not spoken a word. The sight of Wardour's face had
petrified her.

The minutes passed, and there rose a sudden burst of cheering from the
sailors on the beach, near the spot where the fishermen's boats were
drawn up. Every man left his work. Every man waved his cap in the air.
The passengers, near at hand, caught the infection of enthusiasm, and
joined the crew. A moment more, and Richard Wardour appeared again in
the doorway, carrying a man in his arms. He staggered, breathless with
the effort that he was making, to the place where Clara stood, held up
in Mrs. Crayford's arms.

"Saved, Clara!" he cried. "Saved for _you!_"

He released the man, and placed him in Clara's arms.

Frank! foot-sore and weary--but living--saved; saved for _her!_

"Now, Clara!" cried Mrs. Crayford, "which of us is right? I who believed
in the mercy of God? or you who believed in a dream?"

She never answered; she clung to Frank in speechless ecstasy. She never
even looked at the man who had preserved him, in the first absorbing joy
of seeing Frank alive. Step by step, slower and slower, Richard Wardour
drew back, and left them by themselves.

"I may rest now," he said, faintly. "I may sleep at last. The task is
done. The struggle is over."

His last reserves of strength had been given to Frank. He stopped--he
staggered--his hands waved feebly in search of support. But for one
faithful friend he would have fallen. Crayford caught him. Crayford laid
his old comrade gently on some sails strewn in a corner, and pillowed
Wardour's weary head on his own bosom. The tears streamed over his face.
"Richard! dear Richard!" he said. "Remember--and forgive me."

Richard neither heeded nor heard him. His dim eyes still looked across
the room at Clara and Frank.

"I have made _her_ happy!" he murmured. "I may lay down my weary head
now on the mother earth that hushes all her children to rest at last.
Sink, heart! sink, sink to rest! Oh,