tinued the search, still calling
at times, until at last, as they reached the outer point, the last
hope died, and they ceased calling.

"I'm afeard she's gone," said John.

The men shook their heads. John but expressed the general opinion.

"God help that poor young thing at the cottage!" said the elder
fisherman. "She'll be mighty cut up, I take it, now."

"They was all in all to each other," said John, with a sigh.

By this time they had rounded the point. Suddenly John, who had sat
down again, called out:

"Stop! I see something on the water yonder!"

[Illustration: "She Clutched His Arm In A Convulsive Grasp."]

The men looked in the direction where he pointed, and a small object
was visible on the surface of the water. They quickly rowed toward
it. It was a lady's hat, which John instantly recognized as Hilda's.
The long crape veil seemed to have caught in a stake which arose from
the sandy beach above the water, placed there to mark some water
level, and the hat floated there. Reverently, as though they were
touching the dead, did those rough men disentangle the folds, and lay
the hat on the basket.

"There is no hope now," said the younger fisherman, after a solemn
silence. "May our dear Lord and our Blessed Lady," he added, crossing
himself as he spoke, "have mercy on her soul!"

"Amen!" repeated the others, gently.

"However shall I tell my poor little missis," said John, wiping his
eyes.

The others made no response. Soon they reached the shore again. The
old man whispered a few words to his son, and then turned to John:

"I say, comrade," said he; "don't let _her_--" a jerk of his head in
the direction of the cottage indicated to whom the pronoun
referred--"don't let _her_ give us that. We've done naught but what
we'd have done for any poor creature among these rocks. We couldn't
take pay for this night's job--my son nor me. And all we wish is,
that it had been for some good; but it wasn't the Lord's will; and it
ain't for us to say nothin' agin that; only you'll tell your missis,
when she he's a bit better, that we made bold to send her our
respectful sympathy."

John gave this promise to the honest fellows, and then went slowly
and sadly back to make his mournful report.

During John's absence Zillah had been waiting in an agony of
suspense, in which Mathilde made feeble efforts to console her.
Wringing her hands, she walked up and down in front of the house; and
at length, when she