at they could see two men in the little boat.

"They can never live to reach the shore!" cried the doctor.

"As God wills," said the priest.

Instinctively every eye but the girl's was scanning the shore, trying to
find something that would float, something that might help to save the
men in the boat. But there was nothing in sight; the fierce waves had
swallowed everything, and the helpless people on the bank could only
turn again to watch the little boat. Ruth's gaze had never wandered from
it, and she still watched it flying from one wave to another, gazing as
intently as she could through the tears that rained over her pale
cheeks. She saw it go up a gigantic wave with a flying leap and dart
down again, and then it was lost to sight so long that they thought it
was gone. But at last it came up near the shore, overturned, and with
only one man clinging to it. He was on the far side of the frail shell,
so that they could not see him distinctly, although he was not far from
the shore and there was more light. And then a swirl of the wild waters
brought him to the nearer side, and raised him higher.

"It's an old man!" sobbed Ruth. "His head is white. Oh! Oh! It's uncle
Philip! It's uncle Philip! He has been to the island. Save him, Paul!"

The doctor had already thrown off his coat, and was throwing aside his
boots. He had not waited for her last words; he was not sure that it
was Philip Alston; but he knew that some fellow-creature was perishing
almost within reach of his arm. He was now running down the trembling
bank, and in another instant had plunged into the boiling, roaring,
furious flood, and was swimming toward that wildly rising and falling
silver head, which shone like a beacon, through the lurid light. It was
hard to keep anything in sight. He was a strong swimmer, but his full
strength had not come back, and the fury of the waves was swirling trees
like straws.

After that one involuntary appeal, Ruth was silent. Her heart almost
stopped beating as she realized what her cry had done. A woman's mind
acts with marvellous quickness when all she loves is at stake. As in a
lightning flash she knew that she had sent her lover to risk his life
for her foster-father, without knowing what she did. What she would have
done had there been time to hesitate she could not tell, dared not
think. It must have been a bitter choice, this risking of her lover's
life against the certainty of her father's death. But now s