the waves,
drew her into the boat.

"For the shore--for your life!" shouted James Harrington, refusing to be
helped, but clinging to the boat. "No, no--strike out; I will hold
on--pull--pull!"

Ben took off his coat, and rolling it in a bundle, placed it under Mabel
Harrington's head. It was all he could do. The boat was a third full of
water, and he had nothing else.

"Get in--get in--or she will be drowned over again!" he pleaded, seizing
James Harrington by the shoulders, and dragging him over the side. "Get
down, keep her head out of water, and it'll take a worse storm than this
to drive me back."

Harrington fell rather than sat down, and took Mabel in his arms, close
to a heart so chilled that it had almost ceased beating. But as her cold
face fell upon his bosom, a glow of life came back to it, with a pang of
unsupportable feeling. It was not joy--it was not sorrow--but the warmth
in his veins seemed like a sweet poison, which would end in death.

He put the numb and senseless form aside with a great effort, resting
the head upon Ben's coat. Twice he attempted to speak, but his trembling
lips uttered nothing but broken moans.

"Take her," he said to Ben, "take her and I will pull the oars."

"You haven't life enough in you, sir," pleaded Ben, shrinking from the
proposal.

"I am strong again," said Harrington, placing himself on the seat and
taking the oars. "See!"

The boat plunged heavily shoreward. Ben held his mistress with a sort of
terror at the sacrilege. His brawny arms trembled around her. He turned
his face to the storm, rather than allow his eyes to rest upon her. But
James Harrington had no compassion; he still kept to the oars.

At last they shot into a point of the shore, formed by two or three
jutting rocks. Harrington dropped the oars, and the two men lifted Mabel
Harrington from the boat, and bore her to a slope of the hill. No
shelter was in sight. The sudden storm was abating, but rain still
dropped in showers from the trees.

"Where can we convey her? What shall we do?" said Harrington, looking
around in dismay. "She will perish before we can obtain warmth, if she
is not already gone."

Ben had flung down his coat. They laid her upon it. James Harrington
knelt upon the turf, and lifted her head to his knee. The face was pale
as death; purple shadows lay about the mouth, and under the eyes; her
flesh was cold as marble.

Again the deathly cold came creeping to Harrington's hear