"Did you say my father was gone?" she gasped, drawing Nancy in, and shutting the door. "Are you quite sure?"

"Yes, indeed," said Nancy; "he was the foremost to go, for all he's the oldest among 'em. None of 'em would have gone if it hadn't been for him," she added, sobbing; "and now I shall lose my Jem, and there's all those six little blessed innocents lying asleep to wake up fatherless in the morn. You've only one; 'tis not so hard on you."

The sharpest sting of all lay in this selfish ending of the speech, but Lettice pressed her lips together with a hard-set expression and did not speak. She was sending up a silent prayer from her stricken heart, whose anguish God alone could know, while Nancy ran on unheeding with her stream of words.

"I've been looking for this for weeks and months; I knew there'd be death close to us soon. I and my neighbours have seen the corpse-lights again and again blazing like a ball of straw, and there's many a one as has watched the ghost-funerals walking through the churchyard, and old Di Jones said to me, says she, 'Nancy, there'll be a funeral go up from Porthmynwr to St. Elvis afore we're many days older.'"

"Don't listen to her," said Lettice sharply; "she is always trying to frighten folk like that. Those who have the true light in their souls need not fear the corpse-candles. The good Lord would tell us in a better way than that, if He meant us to know things beforehand."

"Ah, it's fine talking," broke in Nancy, "but you know you wouldn't walk through St. Elvis churchyard after dark to save your life."

"And why not?" answered Lettice. "What harm would the dead quietly sleeping do to me? If I could help a living person by walking there, I would go any night with all my heart. What cause for fear have they who love the Lord Jesus, who 'died, and rose, and revived, that He might be Lord both of the dead and living'? Didn't He say, 'Nothing shall by any means hurt you'? I believe 'that,' Nancy, before all the old wives' words. And when I walk home from St. Elvis of a night, I always like to think His angels are walking beside me, and I say to myself,—

"'I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me,'

"And He never lets me be afraid."

Nancy shook her head incredulously, saying, "There's wiser folk than me nor you as have seen the corpse-lights and funerals, and it's a lucky thing for you that you are not afraid of them, and that's all I've got to say. And now I must be off again, and see what's doing down the creek. That's my Jem's voice," she cried, springing towards the door, "or I'm not a living woman. Ay, they're calling and hollering fine about something."

"Stand back!" shouted Old Roger Rudd, as Lettice stepped forward with her companion to welcome her father.

"Don't be frightened, my lass; there's work for you to do, though I fear it be too late. A wreck and all hands lost!"

No need to add more, for the light streaming upon the causeway from the cottage showed what the sailors were carrying.

"Try and save her, Lettice; mayhap some brandy might bring her round, though indeed," added poor Old Roger, trembling, "I fear it's no use now. Well, well, only to think! They were both lashed to a spar, and it's all that's left of the noble ship."

A baby's cry made Lettice deaf to the remainder of the sentence, and Old Roger, placing in her arms an infant a year and a half old, wrapped in a bit of old fishing-net, turned to assist the other men in carrying the silent sleeper within shelter of the cottage. One look at the young face showed Lettice that the sail which carefully covered the slender form was a shroud for the dead.

"Can nothing be done?" said Roger, as tears coursed down his weather-beaten cheek. "Poor lass!" he added, seeing Lettice shake her head. "The storm has, I hope, landed her in the haven where she would be safe with the Lord who walked on the waters. The vessel foundered upon yonder reef, and I reckon the fog hid the lighthouse. The sea is running mountains high, and no boat could have got near them."

"Poor young thing!" said Lettice. "Not more than twenty-five, I should say."

And the widow wept as she turned to hush the wailing of the motherless babe. Tenderly she carried it to the fire, and taking off the coarse netting and soaked little shirt, chafed the tiny limbs until they warmed and revived.

Only a year ago her own baby-girl had thus lain upon her knees, but God had taken her away to Himself, and the cradle had been left empty. How often, with sore eyes and heart, had Lettice looked at it! She could not bear to put it away quite out of sight, so for months it had hung among the heather up in the roof.

And now some baby garments were taken from the chest in the corner, and as the little hands passed through the sleeves Lettice whispered, "Darling little Ruth! The daisies are growing on your cradle-bed, and you are singing with God's angels above the sky."

And laying the helpless little stranger down on the settle, she mounted a chair and unfastened the cradle from the rafters. The mother's heart ached as she set it on the floor, but the rescued babe knew nought of this as, in a soft blanket, it was gently laid within it, and rocked to rest before the bright fire.

Roger went out with the other sailors to make fast his boats and see if there was anything more to be done before night. And Nancy stayed with Lettice to assist in arranging the body.

Lettice had no fears as she closed the dead eyes, and folded the small hand with the wedding ring on it over the other across the breast that had done with life's heavings now. While doing so, she observed a small gold chain and locket set in pearls round the throat, which she gently disengaged and put carefully aside. Inside the locket were two curls of hair and a monogram worked in gold thread across them. It was the only token by which to identify the body or discover the story of this life so early closed, for the silent lips could not reveal the secret.

They laid her in an inner room, where nets and fishing-tackle were strewn about, on a mattress taken from one of the beds, and, according to the custom in those parts, placed lighted candles at the head and feet.

Lettice kissed the lovely face, and then covered it reverently, saying, as she closed the door, "May God's angels keep watch here to-night, as they did by our blessed Saviour's tomb."