stantly filled by eager boatmen.
Dozens of stout arms thrust her--crew and all seated as they were--down
into the lashing surf. There was a short sharp struggle between the
sturdy men and the heavy rollers, which threatened not only to swamp the
boat but to hurl her back, stem over stern, upon the shingle, and in a
few minutes more she was forcing her way through wind, and waves, and
spray, on this her second errand of mercy that night to the Goodwin
Sands.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE WIDOW'S COTTAGE.

"About a thousand ships are wrecked, and nearly a thousand lives are
lost on the shores of this country _every year_," was still the burden
of Mrs Foster's dreams when she was aroused by a loud knocking at the
door of her cottage, and the sound of confused voices and trampling of
many feet outside.

"Ho! goodness gracious me, ma'am," cried worthy Mrs Laker, bursting
into her mistress's apartment--"if here ain't a thousand robbers as is
come for to pillidge the ouse an' trample down the garding. It's from
the hattic winder, I see 'em with the moon, if w'ant the lightenin' a
glanshin' on their 'orrid faces as is never shaved nor washed, and it's
bin my dream from the years of unsuspectious hinfancy, as is come for to
pass now in the days of my womanhood, with dead bodies carryin' too,
w'ich is wuss. Ho! dear, wot _shall_ I do!"

"Go and put on your clothes while I open the door," said Amy Russell,
entering hastily at the moment in a state of comparative dishabille,
with a shawl thrown round her. "Dear mamma, don't be alarmed; it must
be a mistake. They cannot mean us any harm, I am certain. May I go and
open the door?"

"Open the door!" shrieked Mrs Laker in the tone of one almost paralysed
by astonishment; "open the door to a thousand robbers with swords, and
guns, and blood, and dead bodies!"

As Mrs Laker was robed in her night-gown, and stood erect, with her
arms extended and her hair dishevelled, she looked dreadfully tragic and
awful, while these fearful words flowed from her pale lips.

"Hush, Laker," said Mrs Foster, hastily throwing on her garments with
trembling hands, while she made a strong effort to restrain her
agitation, "go, dear Amy, and ask what they want; but don't open the
door."

She followed Amy to the landing outside, leaving Mrs Laker, glaring in
sceptical amazement, in the middle of the room. Presently, Amy was
heard downstairs speaking through the key-hole. A man's voice replied;