xpected, but at first, in the relief of having got off the
stones, she almost felt as if she could fly. She did get over the ground
pretty quickly for some minutes, and even when she began to go more
slowly she kept up a pretty good pace. And at last she saw the queer
building--it reminded her a little of an old pigeon-house at
grandmamma's, for it was not a very high lighthouse--almost close to
her. But, Celestina had spoken truly, between it and her there lay a
good-sized piece of water, stretching up to the rocks, or great rough
stones round the base of the lighthouse--a sort of lake which evidently
was always there, filled up afresh by each visit of the tide.

Bridget gasped. But she was determined enough once she had made up her
mind. She went close up to the water; it did not look at all deep and
her skirts were very short. Down she sat on the sand, less dry than it
looked, and pulled off her shoes and stockings, tying them up into a
bundle as she had seen tramps do in the country. Then lifting her frock
as high as she could, in she plunged. _Oh_, how cold it was! But the
water did not come up very high, not over her knees, though now and then
a false step wetted her pretty badly. She was shivering all over, but on
she waded, till within a few yards only of the sort of little shore
surrounding the lighthouse, when--what was the matter with the sand,
what made it seem to go away from her all at once? She plunged about,
but on all sides it seemed to be sloping downwards; higher and higher
rose the water, till it was above her waist, and still every movement
made it rise.

'I'm drowning,' screamed Biddy. 'Oh, help me, help me! Man in the
lighthouse, can't you hear me? Oh, oh, oh!'

Biddy fortunately had good lungs and her screams carried well. But the
water kept rising, or rather she kept slipping farther down. She was
losing her head now, and had not the sense to stand still, and she was
partly stupefied by cold. It would have gone badly with her but
for--what I must now tell you about.

It was what would be called, I suppose, a curious coincidence, the sort
of chance, so to say--though 'chance' is a word without real
meaning--that many people think only happens in story-books, in which
I do not at all agree, for I have known in real life far stranger
coincidences than I ever read of--well, it was by a very fortunate
coincidence that that very afternoon Bridget's father happened to be at
the lighthouse. He had g