e the buoy was being sent out for another
freight, the cable snapt, the wreck slid off the shelf or ledge on which
it had hung so long, and sank in deep water, leaving nothing save a
momentary whirlpool in the surf to tell where the splendid ocean palace
had gone down.

The horror that filled the minds of those who witnessed the catastrophe
cannot be described. A feeling of dreary desolation and helplessness
followed the sudden cessation of violent energy and hopeful toil in
which most of them had been previously engaged. This was in some degree
changed, if not relieved, by the necessity which lay on all to lace the
vicissitudes of their new position.

That these were neither few nor light soon became apparent, for Edgar
and the seaman, after an hour's investigation, returned to their friends
with the information that they had been cast on a small rocky islet,
which was uninhabited, and contained not a vestige of wood or of
anything that could sustain the life of man. Thus they were left
without shelter or food, or the means of quitting the inhospitable
spot--not, however, without hope, for one of the seamen said that he
knew it to be an isle lying not very far from the mainland, and that it
was almost certain to be passed ere long by ships or native boats.

On further search, too, a spring of fresh water was discovered, with
sufficient grass growing near it to make comfortable beds for the women
and children. The grass was spread under the shelter of an overhanging
cliff, and as the weather was warm, though stormy, the feelings of
despair that had at first overwhelmed young and old soon began to abate.
During the day the gale decreased and a hot sun came out at intervals,
enabling them to dry their soaking garments.

That night, taking Edgar aside, Mr Hazlit thanked him warmly for
preserving his life.

"But," said he, seriously, "forgive me if I at once broach a painful
subject, and point out that our positions are not changed by this
disaster. Much though I love my life I love my daughter's happiness
more, and I would rather die than allow her to marry--excuse me, Mr
Berrington--a penniless man. Of course," continued the merchant, with a
sad smile as he looked around him, "it would be ridiculous as well as
ungrateful were I to forbid your holding ordinary converse with her
_here_, but I trust to your honour that nothing more than _ordinary_
converse shall pass between you."

"My dear sir," replied the you