d, and she judged the tree was moving in a
line with the river. It must be about slack water, and she had
probably reached the eddy formed by the confluence of the tide and the
overflowing waters of the river. Unless the tide fell soon, there was
present danger of her drifting to its channel, and being carried out to
sea or crushed in the floating drift. That peril averted, if she were
carried out on the ebb toward the bay, she might hope to strike one
of the wooded promontories of the peninsula, and rest till daylight.
Sometimes she thought she heard voices and shouts from the river, and
the bellowing of cattle and bleating of sheep. Then again it was only
the ringing in her ears and throbbing of her heart. She found at about
this time that she was so chilled and stiffened in her cramped position
that she could scarcely move, and the baby cried so when she put it to
her breast that she noticed the milk refused to flow; and she was so
frightened at that, that she put her head under her shawl, and for the
first time cried bitterly.

When she raised her head again, the boom of the surf was behind her, and
she knew that her ark had again swung round. She dipped up the water to
cool her parched throat, and found that it was salt as her tears. There
was a relief, though, for by this sign she knew that she was drifting
with the tide. It was then the wind went down, and the great and awful
silence oppressed her. There was scarcely a ripple against the furrowed
sides of the great trunk on which she rested, and around her all was
black gloom and quiet. She spoke to the baby just to hear herself speak,
and to know that she had not lost her voice. She thought then--it was
queer, but she could not help thinking it--how awful must have been the
night when the great ship swung over the Asiatic peak, and the sounds of
creation were blotted out from the world. She thought, too, of mariners
clinging to spars, and of poor women who were lashed to rafts, and
beaten to death by the cruel sea. She tried to thank God that she was
thus spared, and lifted her eyes from the baby, who had fallen into a
fretful sleep. Suddenly, away to the southward, a great light lifted
itself out of the gloom, and flashed and flickered, and flickered and
flashed again. Her heart fluttered quickly against the baby's cold
cheek. It was the lighthouse at the entrance of the bay. As she was yet
wondering, the tree suddenly rolled a little, dragged a little, and
the