aken to smile; and the thought of Edward lay
heavy upon her mind.

"Then the fire broke out; how, or why, I suppose will never be ascertained.
It was at our end of the vessel. I thanked God, then, that you were not
there. The second mate wanted some one to go down with him to bring up the
gunpowder, and throw it overboard. I had nothing to do, and I went. We
wrapped it up in wet sails, but it was a ticklish piece of work, and took
time. When we had got it overboard, the flames were gathering far and wide.
I don't remember what I did until I heard Edward's voice speaking your
name."

It was decided that the next morning they should set off homeward, striving
on their way to obtain tidings of Edward. Frank would have given his only
valuable, (his mother's diamond-guard, which he wore constantly,)as a
pledge for some advance of money; but the kind Welsh people would not have
it. They had not much spare cash, but what they had they readily lent to
the survivors of the Anna-Maria. Dressed in the homely country garb of
the people, Frank and Maggie set off in their car. If was a clear, frosty
morning; the first that winter. The road soon lay high up on the cliffs
along the coast. They looked down on the sea rocking below. At every
village they stopped, and Frank inquired, and made the driver inquire in
Welsh; but no tidings gained they of Edward; though here and there Maggie
watched Frank into some cottage or other, going to see a dead body, beloved
by some one: and when he came out, solemn and grave, their sad eyes met,
and she knew it was not he they sought, without needing words.

At Abergele they stopped to rest; and because, being a larger place, it
would need a longer search, Maggie lay down on the sofa, for she was very
weak, and shut her eyes, and tried not to see forever and ever that mad
struggling crowd lighted by the red flames.

Frank came back in an hour or so; and soft behind him--laboriously treading
on tiptoe--Mr. Buxton followed. He was evidently choking down his sobs; but
when he saw the white wan figure of Maggie, he held out his arms.

"My dear! my daughter!" he said, "God bless you!" He could not speak
more--he was fairly crying; but he put her hand in Frank's and kept holding
them both.

"My father," said Frank, speaking in a husky voice, while his eyes filled
with tears, "had heard of it before he received my letter. I might have
known that the lighthouse signals would take it fast to Liverpool. I