heirs.

In the rail-car, Maggie's mother fainted. Her strength was utterly gone,
from long exposure to the water. With earnest sympathy, the kind-hearted
gentleman once more came to their relief. He took off his coat and
wrapped it around her, and the increased warmth it afforded soon
restored her to consciousness. A dim recollection crossed her mind, as
she looked up to thank their "friend in need." Another look, and she
recognized, to her great surprise and pleasure, one whom she had known
well many years ago; and he was doubly thankful that he had been an
instrument, in the hands of God, of saving from a violent death a lady
for whom, through long years of separation, he had retained the highest
esteem and friendship.

And now, dear little reader, I must tell you, the wonderful telegraph
had sent the news of the burning of the steamboat to New York, while yet
the panic-stricken passengers were making their awful choice of death by
fire or water, and little Maggie's father was one of the first at the
terrible scene. He knew that his wife and daughter were to return in
this boat, and with anguish he searched upon the beach, and looked into
the faces of the dead, dreading to find his loved ones among them.

But they were not there. Then he went down to the water side, and,
nearly all that dreadful night, he dived to the bottom again and again,
bringing up many a poor victim, and every time his cheek grew paler and
his heart throbbed more wildly. At last, exhausted and despairing, he
gave up the dreadful task. They were gone for ever--he should never
again see even the dead faces of his dear wife and his sweet little
"pearl of great price."

Suddenly a faint hope, like a far-off star, dawned upon his heart. It
was just possible that Maggie and her mother were safe in Poughkeepsie;
they might have changed their minds at the last moment. An engine was
there ready to start; it was offered to him. He gratefully accepted,
and, without a single car, the engineer and himself jumped upon the
panting iron monster and almost flew back to Poughkeepsie.

Alas! _they had gone_. These terrible words blanched his cheek again,
and, all hope deserting him--utterly broken down, the strong man covered
his face with his hands and burst into a passionate flood of tears. His
wife--his dear companion, and his little Margaret--his tender, delicate
bud of promise, to be burned--burned, till nothing human was left of
them, or else now lying