ing hands,
she mended the fire, laid the table, and set the kettle on to boil.
She would not allow herself to question the fact that papa would
come--_must_ come, though he might be a little late; and she shaved
the dried beef, broke the eggs, and sliced bread for toasting, so as
to be able to get supper as soon as possible after he should appear.
This helped her through with another hour. Still no sign of papa, and
still the storm raged, as it seemed, more furiously than ever.

Eight o'clock, nine o'clock, ten, half-past ten. I don't know how that
evening passed. It seemed as long as two or three ordinary days. Many
times, thinking she heard a sound, Eyebright flew to the door, but
only to come back disappointed. At last the rain slackened, and,
unable to sit still any longer, she put on her water-proof and India
rubbers, tied a hood over her head, and, taking a lantern, went down
to the cliff again. It would have been of no use to carry an umbrella
in that wind, and the night was so dark that, even with the help of
the lantern, and well as she knew the path, she continually wandered
from it, and struck and bruised herself against stumps and branches
which there was not light to avoid.

At last she gained the top of the bank over the beach. The sea was
perfectly black; she could see nothing and hear nothing, except the
roar of waves and the rattle of the shingle below. Suddenly came a
flash of lightning. It lit the water for a minute, and revealed a dark
spot which might be a boat borne on the waves a little way out from
shore. Eyebright did not hesitate an instant, but tumbled and
scrambled down the bank at once, waving the lantern, and crying, "Here
I am, papa! this way, papa!" as loud as she could. She had scarcely
reached the beach, when another flash showed the object much nearer.
Next moment came a great tumbling wave, and out of the midst of it and
of the darkness, something plunged on to the beach; and then came the
lightning again. It was a boat--and a man in it.

Eyebright seized and held with all her might.

"Oh, hurry and get out, papa," she cried; for though she could not
see, she felt another wave coming. "I can't keep hold but a minute."

And then--she hardly knew how it happened--the man did get out--tumble
out rather--upon the sand; and, as she let go the boat and caught hold
of him, in sped the wave she had dreaded, with a loud roar, splashed
her from head to foot, and rolled back, carrying the b