There the wreck was, however, yet floating; and, though not visible to Mulford, with a small portion of it above water.  He saw the four persons only; and what was more, they saw him.  This was evident by Jack Tier’s waving his hat like a man cheering.  When Mulford returned this signal, the shawl of Rose was tossed into the air, in a way to leave no doubt that he was seen and known.  The explanation of this early recognition and discovery of the young mate was very simple.  Tier was not asleep when Harry left the wreck, though, seeing the importance of the step the other was taking, he had feigned to be so.  When Rose awoke, missed her lover, and was told what had happened, her heart was kept from sinking by his encouraging tale and hopes.  An hour of agony had succeeded, nevertheless, when light returned and no Mulford was to be seen.  The despair that burst upon the heart of our heroine was followed by the joy of discovering him on the rock.

It is scarcely necessary to say how much the parties were relieved on ascertaining their respective positions.  Faint as were the hopes of each of eventual delivery, the two or three minutes that succeeded seemed to be minutes of perfect happiness.  After this rush of unlooked-for joy, Mulford continued his intelligent examination of surrounding objects.

The wreck was fully half a mile from the rock of the mate, but much nearer to the reef than it had been the previous night.  “Could it but ground on the rocks,” thought the young man, “it would be a most blessed event.”  The thing was possible, though the first half hour of his observations told him that its drift was in the direction of the open passage so often named, rather than toward the nearest rocks.  Still, that drift brought Rose each minute nearer and nearer to himself again.  In looking round, however, the young man saw the boat.  It was a quarter of a mile distant, with open water between them, apparently grounded on a rock, for it was more within the reef than he was himself.  He must have passed it in the dark, and the boat had been left to obey the wind and currents, and to drift to the spot where it then lay.

Mulford shouted aloud when he saw the boat, and at once determined to swim in quest of it, as soon as he had collected a little refreshment from among the sea-weed.  On taking a look at his rock by daylight, he saw that its size was quadrupled to the eye by the falling of the tide, and that water was lying in several of the cavities of its uneven surface.  At first he supposed this to be sea-water, left by the flood; but, reflecting a moment, he remembered the rain, and hoped it might be possible that one little cavity, containing two or three gallons of the fluid, would turn out to be fresh.  Kneeling beside it, he applied his lips in feverish haste, and drank the sweetest draught that had ever passed his lips.  Slaking his thirst, which had begun again to be painfully severe, he arose with a heart overflowing with gratitude—­could