The outer door opened, and Mr. Dinsmore and Captain Raymond came in, their waterproof coats dripping with rain.

They had been out on the edge of the cliff taking an observation, though it was little they could see through the darkness; but occasionally the lightning’s lurid flash lit up the scene for a moment, and afforded a glimpse of the storm-tossed deep.

“Be comforted, ladies,” the captain said; “there are at least no signs of any vessel in distress; if any such were near, she would undoubtedly be firing signal-guns.  So I think we may hope my conjecture that our boys are safe in harbor somewhere, is correct.”

“And the storm is passing over,” said Mr. Dinsmore; “the thunder and lightning have almost ceased.”

“But the wind has not fallen, and that is what makes the great danger, grandpa, isn’t it?” asked Zoe.  “Oh, hark, what was that?  I heard a step and voice!” And rushing to the outer door as she spoke, she threw it open, and found herself in her husband’s arms.

“O Ned, Ned!” she cried, in a transport of joy, “is it really you?  Oh, I thought I should never see you again, you dear, dear, dear boy!”

She clung round his neck, and he held her close, with many a caress and endearing word, drawing her a little to one side to let his brothers step past them and embrace the tender mother, who wept for joy as she received them, almost as if restored to her from the very gates of death.

“There, love, I must let you go while I take off this dripping coat,” Edward said, at length, releasing Zoe.  “How wet I have made you!  I fear your pretty dress is quite spoiled,” he added, with a tender, regretful smile.

“That’s nothing,” she answered, with a gay laugh; “you’ll only have to buy me another, and you’ve plenty of money.”

“Plenty to supply all the wants of my little wife, I hope.”

“Ah, mother dear,” as he threw aside his wet overcoat and took her in his arms, “were you alarmed for the safety of your three sons?”

“Yes, indeed I was,” she said, returning his kisses; “and I feel that I have great cause for thankfulness in that you are all brought back to me unharmed.  ’Oh, that men would praise the Lord for His goodness and for His wonderful works to the children of men!’”

Betty had started up on the entrance of her cousins, glancing eagerly from one dripping figure to another, then staggered back and leaned, pale and trembling, against the wall.  In the excitement no one had noticed her, but now she exclaimed, in tremulous accents, and catching her breath, “Bob—­my brother; where is he?”

“O Betty,” Harold answered, turning hastily at the sound of her voice, “forgive our thoughtlessness in not explaining that at once!  Bob went to a hotel; he said we could bring the news of his safety and our own, and it wasn’t worth while for him to travel all the way up here through the storm.”

“No, of course not; I wouldn’t have had him do so,” she returned, with a sigh of relief, her face resuming its wonted gayety of expression; “but I’m mighty glad he’s safe on terra firma.”