thing fresh
had occurred.

The first pale light of dawn was just appearing in the east when we made
our way for the second time to the scene of the shipwreck. The gale had
blown itself out, but the sea was still very high, and all inside the
breakers was a seething, gleaming line of foam, as though the fierce old
ocean were gnashing its white fangs at the victims who had escaped from
its clutches.

All along the beach fishermen and crofters were hard at work hauling up
spars and barrels as fast as they were tossed ashore. None of them had
seen any bodies, however, and they explained to us that only such things
as could float had any chance of coming ashore, for the undercurrent was
so strong that whatever was beneath the surface must infallibly be swept
out to sea.

As to the possibility of the unfortunate passengers having been able to
reach the shore, these practical men would not hear of it for a moment,
and showed us conclusively that if they had not been drowned they must
have been dashed to pieces upon the rocks.

"We did all that could be done," my father said sadly, as we returned
home. "I am afraid that the poor mate has had his reason affected by
the suddenness of the disaster. Did you hear what he said about Buddhist
priests raising a gale?"

"Yes, I heard him," said I. "It was very painful to listen to him," said
my father. "I wonder if he would object to my putting a small mustard
plaster under each of his ears. It would relieve any congestion of
the brain. Or perhaps it would be best to wake him up and give him two
antibilious pills. What do you think, Jack?"

"I think," said I, with a yawn, "that you had best let him sleep, and go
to sleep yourself. You can physic him in the morning if he needs it."

So saying I stumbled off to my bedroom, and throwing myself upon the
couch was soon in a dreamless slumber.

CHAPTER XII. OF THE THREE FOREIGN MEN UPON THE COAST

It must have been eleven or twelve o'clock before I awoke, and it seemed
to me in the flood of golden light which streamed into my chamber that
the wild, tumultuous episodes of the night before must have formed part
of some fantastic dream.

It was hard to believe that the gentle breeze which whispered so softly
among the ivy-leaves around my window was caused by the same element
which had shaken the very house a few short hours before. It was as if
Nature had repented of her momentary passion and was endeavouring to
make amends to