oam of the
billows with a flush of crimson. The gale had lulled; and I knew that my
father's vessel sailed with the tide. I started from my seat, Mrs.
Arthur languidly raised her head--

"'My dear Betsy, will you just run across the cliff to the look-out
house, and ask the sailors there if the _Nancy_ came in last night? I
cannot bear this suspense much longer.'

"'I might have thought of that before,' I said; and, without waiting
for hat or shawl, I ran with breathless speed to the nearest station.

"I found one old sailor kneeling upon the bench, looking intently
through his telescope at some object at sea. My eyes followed the
direction of the glass, and I saw distinctly, about two miles beyond the
east cliff, a vessel lying dismasted upon the reef, with the sea
breaking continually over her.

"'What vessel is that, Ned Jones?' said I.

"'It's the _Nancy_,' he replied, without taking his eye from the glass.
'I know her by the white stripe along her black hull. She's a perfect
wreck, and both the brave lads are drowned.'

"'When did this happen?' I shrieked, shaking him frantically by the
arm.

"'She struck upon the reef at half-past one this morning. Our lads got
the boat off, but too late to save the crew.'

"'Good God!' I cried, reeling back, as if struck with a bolt of ice;
and the same deadly cold shiver ran through me. 'It was his ghost,
then, I saw.'[B]

[B] I have told this story exactly as it was told to me by
Flora's nurse. The reader must judge how far the young
girl's imagination may have deceived her. Whether as a
dream, or a reality, I have no doubt of the truth of
her tale.

"I don't know how I got back to Mrs. Arthur. I never knew. Or, whether
it was from me she learned the terrible tidings of the death of her
sons. I fell into a brain fever, and when I recovered my senses, Mrs.
Arthur had been in her grave for some weeks.

"In thinking over the events of that fearful night, the recollection
which pained me most was, that David's last thought had been for his
mother,--that during his death-struggle, she was dearer to him than me.
It haunted me for years. At times it haunts me still. Whenever the wind
blows a gale, and the moon shines clear and cold, I fancy I can see him
standing below my window, in his dripping garments, and that sad pale
face turned towards his mother's casement; and I hear him call out, in
the rich, mellow voice I loved so well,--'M