Yes, it actually came nearer; but would it see her, a mere speck on the ocean? She would gather strength enough to wave her handkerchief. Ah! it really was a vessel. God help her now in her one last gleam of hope! She had no strength to call, and even if she had probably such call would be useless. How earnestly she prayed, gaining new lease of life from this new hope! “There’s something ahead,” said the man at the lookout. “Perhaps a body floating out at sea; no, it looks like a rowboat—perhaps a drifting lifeboat of some steamer.” And word was given to bring the ship alongside. “Heaven help us—why, there’s a girl in the boat alone!” “Lower a lifeboat, boys, and pull out for her.” “Aye, aye, sir!” said the men, with eager hearts, for none have warmer than those who sail the ocean. Louise’s heart bounded for joy when she saw the sturdy oarsmen come near. She would have fainted hours before, but now she wept with gratitude. “It’s a long way ye are from home,” said one broad-shouldered sailor, as he lifted her in his arms like a child, and carried her into the lifeboat. She was too weak to tell the story now, and wondering how it all happened the men carried back their precious freight to the ship. The captain and officers showed her every kindness, offering her food when she could partake of it, and giving her every chance for rest and sleep. “But we cannot take you home,” said the kind-hearted man. “We are on our way to America. It must be weeks before our return.” “I am so thankful for all your kindness. I can wait anywhere, only so I send them word of my safety.” The steamer arrived on the Atlantic coast May 19, just one month after the almost fatal boat-ride. On the other side of the ocean there was sorrow and suspense. Louise’s home was desolate for its lost one. Public opinion was still bitter against the author of her misfortune. With innocent heart, but blanched face, Mr. Farneaux was brought from jail to the crowded court-room for his trial on the charge of homicide. Every day and hour he had hoped for some word that would show him to be guiltless, but days grew into weeks, and neither the boat nor Louise Arnot was found. He supposed her dead, but hoped some vessel would report the empty boat, or have picked up at sea the missing one. The prosecution made out a strong case. “If Mr. Farneaux’s story were true,” said the attorney, “that he was unable to reach her, and therefore saved his life by swimming ashore, her body would have been found on the beach long before this. She was last seen in his company. It was an easy matter to sink the oars and then swim to shore after the deed was done. Thirty days have gone by, long enough for any vessel to have picked her up and restored her to her heart-broken family, if she were alive.” And then for hours the enormity of the deed, the coaxing her to go upon the ocean that Sabbath evening, the cold-bloodedness of the whole affair, were gone over by able lawyers.