She wore upon her neck, as she had worn since the days of her betrothal to Luke, the cord to which the pearl ring was attached.  The ring had never been removed; but now, as Clarice came near to the Point, she laid the oars aside, and with trembling hands untied the black cord and disengaged the ring, and drew it on her finger, that trembled like a leaf.  She was doing now what Luke had bidden her do,—­and for his sake.  Until now she had always looked upon it as a ring of betrothal; henceforth it was her wedding-ring,—­the evidence of her true marriage with Luke Merlyn.

O unseen husband, didst thou see her as anew she gave herself to love, to constancy, to duty?

She was floating toward the Point, when she knelt in the fishing-boat and plunged the hand that wore the ring under the bright cold water.  How bright, how cold it was!  It chilled Clarice; she shuddered; was she the bride of Death?  But she did not rise from her knees, neither withdraw her hand, until her vow, the vow she was there to speak, was spoken.  There she knelt alone in the great universe, with God and Luke Merlyn.

When at last she stood upon the Point, she had strength to meet her destiny, and patience to wait while it was being developed.  She knew her marriage covenant was blest, and filial duty was divested of every thought or notion that could tempt or deceive her.  Treading thus fearlessly among the high places of imagination, no prescience of mortal trouble could lurk among the mysterious shadows.  By her faith in the eternity of love she was greatly more than conqueror.

The day passed, and night drew near.  It was the purpose of Clarice to row home with the tide.  But a strange thing happened to her ere she set out to return.  As she stood looking out upon the sea, watching the waves as they rolled and broke upon the beach, a new token came to her from the deep.

Almost as she might have waited for Luke, she stood watching the onward drift; calculating the spot at which the waves would deposit their burden, she stood there when the plank was borne inland, to save it, if possible, from being dashed with violence on the rocks.

To this plank a child was bound,—­a little creature that might be three years old.  At the sight of this form, and this helplessness, the heart of the woman seemed to break into sudden living flame.  She carried the plank down to a level spot with an energy that would have made light of a burden even ten times as great; she stooped upon the sand; she unbound the body; and she thought, “The child is dead!” Nevertheless she took him in her arms; she dried his limbs with her apron; she wiped his face, and rubbed his hair;—­but he gave no sign of life.  Then she wrapped him in her shawl, and laid him in the boat, and rowed home.

There was no one in the cabin when Clarice went in.  When Dame Briton came home, she found her daughter with a ring upon her finger, bending over the body of a child that lay upon her bed.