Her sympathy extended, however, far beyond. She trembled with joy when she distinguished on board of a passing vessel boys and girls, young people and women. She waved her handkerchief to them, sent to them affectionate words which the wind blew away, but which eased her full heart. She had another more intimate tie to her fellow-beings, and to her native land, and this was the reading some good books, that inexhaustible source of elevated thought and profitable example.

When she at last appeared in the low hall where they waited for her, there was a general hurrah; the question was, who should first get his arms round her neck, who should embrace her, and who should congratulate her on her birthday. She showed herself as much surprised, as much delighted, as the young providers of the festival could desire. She praised the beauty of the lobster, the size of the shrimps, the wild taste of the omelet; but the rose touched her the most tenderly, and Jenny clapped her hands as she said,—

"I was very sure that you would love my poor little flower, which William despised because it was not good to eat."

"He is a little gourmand," said Grace, laughing, "whom I condemn for his punishment to eat my part of the cake."

"To the health of Grace," said the father. "We have just opened for her one of the bottles of old Bourdeaux, which the brave French captain gave us, who came near perishing down below at the end of the great reef of rocks, sixteen years ago."

"And whom you saved at the risk of your life," added his wife.

"I remember it all," said Grace, with a very serious look; "I was very small, yet I well remember that terrible night. I hear now the howling of the waves as they broke against the rocks, and made the lighthouse tremble."

"It was just such a night as this," said the father; "a Friday, the sixth of September. The sun set, just as it set to-night, in a cloud red as blood, which is never a sign of any thing good."

"It is a sign of a great wind," said James; "so much the better; the wild birds will come to the island for shelter."

"A great storm," said John, "always brings fish into my trap; besides, I love the storm."

"Let us play hit-hand," said Jenny. "Come, James, you begin; put your head in my lap, and hold your hand out. There! tell me who struck."

"That is not difficult; it was you."

"O! you looked!"

"No. Now it is your turn."

After this game came blind man's buff. The eldest sister gave herself up to all their wishes. She let them bandage her eyes, and sought fearfully the little fugitives; but notwithstanding her efforts, and the efforts of all to be amused, a cloud hung over the little assembly. Without, a thick fog enveloped the island, and veiled the friendly light.

"If I am not greatly deceived, this will be a very bad night," said the father. "There is, fortunately, no vessel in sight, if it is not, perhaps, the Hull packet, which will have had time, I think, to reach the Bay of Berwick, and which will have the discretion, I trust, to remain there; for the heavens speak in a loud voice this evening; the wind comes from below, and the waves run before it like a flock of frightened sheep."

"I should like to see a flock of sheep," said the little girl of five, whom Grace held in her lap, and whom she was getting to sleep.

"Hush! did I not hear something?" said the mother.

"It is the wind that sings us to sleep in the tower," said the little child.

Grace, who was just going up stairs, stopped and listened. "I only hear the sea which strikes and rages against the rocks," said she.

"Let it beat as it will, it will not wake me," said John. "I am too weary."

Good nights were exchanged, and they all betook themselves to bed; and, in a quarter of an hour after, every one slept, rocked by the storm which roared around the tower, beat against the lighthouse, shook its thick glass, and sought in vain to reach the flame. The tempest increased from hour to hour. It rose in mountainous waves, and broke against the rocks with a tremendous noise.

These sounds were heard in Grace's dreams; she thought she saw men and women struggling with the waves; they called her to their rescue; she held out her hand, and felt herself drawn into the gulf with them. Presently she heard a cry. She sat up in her bed; the day began to dawn; it might be four o'clock in the morning. The wind brought to her ear a cry shriller than the first. This time she was not mistaken; it was a human voice.

Her whole heart was agitated. Quickly as possible she climbed to the steps that led to the outer platform of the lighthouse. Her father was there before her. Clinging to the balustrade, he looked all around; but his eyes were unable to see through the fog and the rain; he saw nothing.

"Grace," said he, "you have good eyes; see if you can discover any thing."

The young girl took the spy glass, but the fog obscured the glasses. She calmly wiped them, and looked again.

"I perceive the top of a mast," said she.

"Where is it?"

"At the head of the long reef. O God, if the fog would only lift." And the young girl raised an earnest prayer to Heaven.

"Why, Father," she called suddenly, "I see something move. There are many of them; they are waiting for us; let us go."

"You do not think, my child," said her father; "stay here; I will go alone."

"Alone to meet those frightful waves, and no one to guide the helm? That would be to go to a certain death. I am stronger than you. Think of no such thing, Father. I shall go with you, and we will save them."

Her father looked in her face, and his eyes filled with tears.

"So be it," he said; "we will die together."

"We will live, and we will save them. Let us to the work."

She hurried on her father. In the twinkling of an eye, the boat, moored in a creek, was unfastened, and launched upon the boiling waves, when a voice cried from the shore,—

"And will you leave me behind? I have a right to run the same risks with you; I wish to take my part." The mother threw herself into the bark, which rose for a moment on the menacing crest of an enormous wave, then disappeared, swallowed up in the furrow left between two mountains of water.

In the mean while, the fog lifted, and a group of shipwrecked people were seen clinging to the sharp points of a ledge of rocks upon which beat the hull of a ship, split in two.

"They come nearer," cried one of them. "O, that terrible wave has carried them farther off."

"Let us thank God for that," said the captain; "it might have dashed them against the reef."

"They will arrive too late," said a poor mother who pressed to her heart an infant already stiff and motionless with cold.

"They are making superhuman efforts," said the captain. "Courage, brave hearts!" And he raised a white handkerchief.

The mother uttered a loud cry. She had just discovered that the child that she was trying to warm was dead.

At this moment, the bark made a desperate effort to land; but a furious wave carried it off for a third time. It whirled round and round, as if taken into one of those bottomless gulfs which the currents form around the rocks, and disappeared.

The group of shipwrecked sufferers, six men and five women, fell upon their knees at this awful moment. Suddenly they perceived the boat nearer to them than ever. It had rounded the reef, and gained a quieter sea. It was coming along the edge of the rock, which on that side sunk precipitately into the sea.

"Bless me," said the captain, "they are women."

"Angels come down from heaven to save us," cried a sailor.

Grace had already seized hold of the poor mother. She had gently taken the dead baby out of her arms, under the pretence of carrying it for her. She led her over the rough parts of the rock into the boat.

There was not a minute to lose; the tide was rising; a delay of a few moments might render a return impossible. The heroic young girl