ted, blowing more steadily, too, and less in sudden
gusts; while the sea rolled in large round waves, unbroken above, and
showing no crest of foam.

"Do you know where we are?" asked Harcourt.

"Yes, sir; we 're off the Rooks' Point, and if we hold on well, we 'll
soon be in slacker water."

"Could the boy have reached this, think you?"

The man shook his head mournfully, without speaking.

"How far are we from Glencore?"

"About eighteen miles, sir; but more by land."

"You can put me ashore, then, somewhere hereabouts."

"Yes, sir, in the next bay; there's a creek we can easily run into."

"You are quite sure he couldn't have been blown out to sea?"

"How could he, sir? There's only one way the wind could dhrive him. If
he isn't in the Clough Bay, he's in glory."

All the anxiety of that dreary night was nothing to what Harcourt now
suffered, in his eagerness to round the Rooks' Point, and look in the
bay beyond it. Controlling it as he would, still would it break out in
words of impatience and even anger.

"Don't curse the boat, yer honor," said Peter, respectfully, but calmly;
"she's behaved well to us this night, or we 'd not be here now."

"But are we to beat about here forever?" asked the other, angrily.

"She's doin' well, and we ought to be thankful," said the man; and
his tone, even more than his words, served to reprove the other's
impatience. "I'll try and set the mainsail on her with the remains of
the sprit."

Harcourt watched him, as he labored away to repair the damaged rigging;
but though he looked at him, his thoughts were far away with poor
Glencore upon his sick bed, in sorrow and in suffering, and perhaps soon
to hear that he was childless. From these he went on to other thoughts.
What could have occurred to have driven the boy to such an act of
desperation? Harcourt invented a hundred imaginary causes, to reject
them as rapidly again. The affection the boy bore to his father seemed
the strongest principle of his nature. There appeared to be no event
possible in which that feeling would not sway and control him. As he
thus ruminated, he was aroused by the sudden cry of the boatman.

"There's a boat, sir, dismasted, ahead of us, and drifting out to say."

"I see her!--I see her!" cried Harcourt; "out with the oars, and let's
pull for her."

Heavily as the sea was rolling, they now began to pull through the
immense waves, Harcourt turning his head at every instant to watch the
bo