g of agony in his voice now.

But Tim's answer reaches them, clear and loud, above the roar of the
advancing tide.

"I shall not come; there isn't room for three. You know that well
enough."

"But, Tim, what will you do? I'll come down, and give you my place."

"Stay where you are," Tim shouts sternly. "You've got Bee to take care
of. And there's a heavy sea rolling in, she'll have to sit fast."

As Tim speaks the flood is surging up to his knees, and the wind, too,
is rising higher and higher. All around him the waves are foaming over
the sunken rocks, and the sea-thunder grows louder and more terrible
every moment.

"I'll come down," cries Claude, making a desperate movement to descend.
"You sha'n't stop there and drown alone! Do you think I'll be such a
hound as to let you?"

But Bee with all her strength, holds him back. "Empey, _dear_ Empey,"
she moans, "stay for my sake!"

"I'll take my chance," Tim sings out cheerily. "I can swim; I mean to
try for the landing-place."

"You're mad; the tide will dash you on the rocks!" groans Claude, in
despair. And then, so slight is his foothold that he nearly loses his
balance in looking downward; and Bee, clinging to him, screams with
terror.

"I can't bear it!" he says wildly.

How fast the waters rise! Great waves are breaking against the sides of
the Chair, and leaping up nearer and nearer to the ledge whereon the
pair support their feet. Once more Claude calls to Tim, passionately,
almost fiercely,--

"I'll never forgive myself if you are lost! Tim, Tim, where are you?"

And the clear voice comes up, somewhat faintly, from below. "It's all
right. God bless you and Bee."

A mighty billow flings its cloud of foam over the faces of Claude and
the shrinking girl by his side, and blinds them with salt spray. But
high as the tide is, the Chair is still above its reach, and although
the wave may sprinkle them, it cannot swallow them up. Only they are
deafened as well as blinded, and Bee feels that she is losing her
senses. Surely her brain is wandering, else she could never hear the
notes of the anthem again, and Tim's voice singing the words of the old
psalm in such exulting tones,--

"The Lord on high is mightier than the noise of many waters, yea, than
the mighty waves of the sea."

* * * * *

When night is closing over the little watering-place there are
rejoicings and lamentations in Nelson Lodge. Aunt Hetty's heart is f