the sun-beams, as the water washed from her sides;
and then, as boat and vessel sunk together, all was lost to the eye, even
to the attenuated lines of her tallest and most delicate spars.

Both Mrs Wyllys and Gertrude bowed their faces to their knees, when
assured of the truth of their hopes, and poured out their gratitude in
silent and secret thanksgivings. The joy of Cassandra was more clamorous,
and less restrained. The simple negress laughed, shed tears, and exulted
in the most touching manner, on the prospect that was now offered for the
escape of her young mistress and herself from a death that the recent
sight had set before her imagination in the most frightful form. But no
answering look of congratulation was to be traced in the contracting and
anxious eye of their companion.

"Now," said Mrs Wyllys, seizing his hand in both her own, "may we hope to
be delivered; and then shall we be allowed, brave and excellent young man,
some opportunity of proving to you how highly we esteem your services."

Wilder permitted the burst of her feelings with a species of bewildered
care, but he neither spoke, nor in any other manner exhibited the smallest
sympathy in her joy.

"Surely you are not grieved, Mr Wilder," added the wondering Gertrude,
"that the prospect of escape from these awful waves is at length so
mercifully held forth to us!"

"I would gladly die to shelter you from harm," returned the young sailor;
"but"--

"This is not a time for any thing but gratitude and rejoicing,"
interrupted the governess; "I cannot hearken to any cold exceptions now;
what mean you with that 'but?'"

"It may be not so easy as you think to reach yon ship--the gale may
prevent--in short, many is the vessel that is seen at sea which cannot be
spoken."

"Happily, such is not our cruel fortune. I understand considerate and
generous youth, your wish to dampen hopes that may possibly be yet
thwarted, but I have too long, and too often, trusted this dangerous
element, not to know that he who has the wind can speak, or not, as he
pleases."

"You are right in saying we are to windward Madam; and, were I in a ship,
nothing would be easier than to run within hail of the stranger.--That
ship is certainly lying-to, and yet the gale is not fresh enough to bring
so stout a vessel to so short canvas."

"They see us, then, and await our arrival."

"No, no: Thank God, we are not yet seen! This little rag of ours is
blended with the spray.