rolled to shore bringing with them
spars, sails, cordage, &c., which either dashed to pieces against the
rocks, or by the reflux of the waves were carried back into the sea.

"Strange!" said he, "what has with difficulty escaped the sea--after
struggling fruitlessly for preservation--is destroyed in a moment
or carried back into the scene of its conflicts. Is not this the
image of my own lot? With what mysterious yearning did I long for
England! All the difficulties which threatened me on the Continent
I surmounted--only to struggle for my life as I came within view of the
English shores, to witness the barbarizing effects upon human kindness
of death approaching in its terrors, and at last perhaps to find myself
a helpless outcast summoned again to face some new perils."

He still felt the effects of his late exhaustion; and, sitting down
upon a large stone, he threw his eyes over the steely surface of the
sea. Looking upwards again,--he was shocked at beholding a few paces
from him the tall erect person of his hostess. She stood upon a point
of rock with her back to the sun, and intercepting his orb from
Bertram, so that her grey hair streaming upon the wind, her red cloak
which seemed to be _set_ as it were in the solar radiance, and the
lower part of her figure, which was strongly relieved upon the
tremulous surface of the sea, gave to her a more than usually wild and
unearthly appearance. Bertram shuddered as before a fiend; whilst the
old woman, by whose side crept a large wolf-dog, said with an air of
authority:

"So then I see the old proverb is true--_Save a drowning man, and
beware of an adders sting._ But I have power: and can punish the
thankless heart. So rise, traitor, and back to the house."

Bertram felt himself too much reduced in spirits, and too little
acquainted with the neighbourhood, to contest the point at present: he
considered besides that he was really indebted to her for attentions
and hospitality; and was unwilling to appear in the light of a
thankless guest. In this feeling he surrendered himself to her
guidance; but to gratify his curiosity he said--

"Good mother, I owe you much for my recovery: but who is it that I must
thank for my deliverance from the water? I was lying upon a barrel, at
the mercy of the waves. I lost my senses; and on recovering I find
myself with you, and know not how, or by whose compassion."

"What then? You'll never be a hair the drier for knowing _that_."