seen!  The sound, though clear, was faint, and the schooner was evidently at a considerable distance; but Tom, in his eagerness, did not think of that.  He shouted with all his strength.  He waited for an answer, and then shouted again.  Once more he waited, and listened, and then again and again his screams went forth over the water.  But still no response came.  At last, after some interval, the fog horn again sounded.  Again Tom screamed, and yelled, and uttered every sound that could possibly convey to human ears an idea of his presence, and of his distress.

The sounds of the fog horn, however, did not correspond with his cries.  It was blown at regular intervals, which seemed painfully long to Tom, and did not seem to sound as if in answer to him.  At first his hope was sustained by the discovery that the sounds were louder, and therefore nearer; but scarcely had he assured himself of this, when he perceived that they were growing fainter again, as though the schooner had approached him, and then sailed away.  This discovery only stimulated him to more frantic exertions.  He yelled more and more loudly, and was compelled, at last, to cease from pure exhaustion.  But even then he did not cease till long after the last notes of the departing fog horn had faintly sounded in his ears.

It was a disappointment bitter indeed, since it came after a reviving hope.  What made it all the worse was a fixed idea which he had, that the schooner was no other than the Antelope.  He felt confident that she had come at once after him, and was now traversing the waters in search of him, and sounding the horn so as to send it to his ears and get his response.  And his response had been given with this result!  This was the end of his hopes.  He could bear it no longer.  The stout heart and the resolute obstinacy which had so long struggled against fate now gave way utterly.  He buried his face in his hands, and burst into a passion of tears.

He wept for a long time, and roused himself, at last, with difficulty, to a dull despair.  What was the use of hoping, or thinking, or listening?  Hope was useless.  It was better to let himself go wherever the waters might take him.  He reached out his hand and drew the sail forward, and then settling himself down in the stern of the boat, he again shut his eyes and tried to sleep.  But sleep, which a short time before had been so easy, was now difficult.  His ears took in once more the different sounds of the sea, and soon became aware of a deeper, drearer sound than any which had hitherto come to him.  It was the hoarse roar of a great surf, far more formidable than the one which he had heard before.  The tumult and the din grew rapidly louder, and at length became so terrific that he sat upright, and strained his eyes in the direction from which it came.  Peering thus through the darkness, he saw the glow of phosphorescent waves wrought out of the strife of many waters; and they threw towards him, amid the