ve mercy upon us!"

Not in quiet calm of village church did ever such a pitiful cry go up to
heaven; it was like one voice--like the day of judgment in the presence of
the Lord.

And after that there was no more silence; but a confusion of terrible
farewells, and wild cries of affright, and purposeless rushes hither and
thither.

The boats were down, rocking on the sea. The captain spoke:

"Put the children in first; they are the most helpless."

One or two stout sailors stood in the boats to receive them. Edward drew
nearer and nearer to the gangway, pulling Maggie with him. She was almost
pressed to death, and stifled. Close in her ear, she heard a woman praying
to herself. She, poor creature, knew of no presence but God's in that awful
hour, and spoke in a low voice to Him.

"My heart's darlings are taken away from me. Faith! faith! Oh, my great
God! I will die in peace, if Thou wilt but grant me faith in this terrible
hour, to feel that Thou wilt take care of my poor orphans. Hush! dearest
Billy," she cried out shrill to a little fellow in the boat waiting for his
mother; and the change in her voice from despair to a kind of cheerfulness,
showed what a mother's love can do. "Mother will come soon. Hide his face,
Anne, and wrap your shawl tight round him." And then her voice sank down
again in the same low, wild prayer for faith. Maggie could not turn to see
her face, but took the hand which hung near her. The woman clutched at it
with the grasp of a vice; but went on praying, as if unconscious. Just then
the crowd gave way a little. The captain had said, that the women were to
go next; but they were too frenzied to obey his directions, and now pressed
backward and forward. The sailors, with mute, stern obedience, strove to
follow out the captain's directions. Edward pulled Maggie, and she kept her
hold on the mother. The mate, at the head of the gangway, pushed him back.

"Only women are to go!"

"There are men there."

"Three, to manage the boat."

"Come on, Maggie! while there's room for us," said he, unheeding. But
Maggie drew back, and put the mother's hand into the mate's. "Save her
first!" said she. The woman did not know of anything, but that her children
were there; it was only in after days, and quiet hours, that she remembered
the young creature who pushed her forward to join her fatherless children,
and, by losing her place in the crowd, was jostled--where, she did not
know--but dreamed until h