“Oh, if you only come back safe again, I shall quarrel with you and tease you no more,—­and you so patient and so good,”—­and her quivering lip, and the expression of anguish that passed over her features, told how deep and true her emotion.

“It is no use lingering here,” she mentally ejaculated, as a fresh blast of wind nearly swept her from the summit.  “I may as well go down at once.”  Turning to descend, she paused to take a parting glance at the distant ocean, whose mercy she would fain have invoked for the loved ones it bore on its bosom, when something at a distance caught her eager eye.  As one transfixed, she stood there, fearing almost to breathe, lest a breath might dissolve the vision.

“Yes, a sail is in sight; but, ah, is it the one I look for?  Oh, this cruel suspense, how much longer must I bear it!  Father, father,” she cried, and the breeze bore the clear tones of her voice distinctly to his ear; “father, do come here, for I see a sail yonder, and I think it is the ‘Darling,’” for so, by the lover captain,—­doubtless to remind him of another =darling=, tarrying at home,—­the little trim schooner was designated.

The man quickly obeyed her summons, and soon stood by her side, scanning, too, with eager eyes, the appearance of the vessel, that was now, favored by a strong breeze, veering rapidly towards them.

“It looks like her cut, Ellen,” said the fisherman; “but we shall see shortly.”

“Yes,” said the girl, clapping her hands with delight, while her whole face was lighted up with joy; “it is her, sure enough, for I see her blue flag bordered with red, and the white square in the centre.”

“Well,” said the man, with a good-humored smile, “thine eyes must be a good deal sharper than mine, lass, for I can barely see a flag at all, much less its color; but certainly thou ought to know best, when it happens to be the work of thine own hands.”

A merry laugh was the response.  “I shall hurry down to tell mother,”—­and with an agile step she bounded down the steep eminence, and in a few moments reached the door of the dwelling, while the fisherman hastened to the beach, to be first ready to greet the crew of the schooner with a hearty welcome home.

CHAPTER IX.

“Ben,” said the Captain of a smart-looking schooner, that under a heavy weight of canvas was manfully breasting the breeze, almost conscious, one might fancy, that it was steering for home.

“Ben,” he inquired, addressing the mate, who had just come on deck, “what is that strange looking thing yonder?” indicating by his finger the direction of the object.  The mate, a weather-beaten and experienced looking son of the ocean, glanced for a moment in the direction specified, without speaking.

“It looks to me,” he said at length, “like a human being clinging to some box or chair, but it is floating fast this way, and we shall soon be able to tell.”