Again the hope of safety seemed a delusive one; the skiff swooped away from the rock, spun more giddily about, and threw both men upon their knees. Another instant that seemed endless,--an instant which decided the fate of both, as far as this world was concerned,--these men trembled on the brink of eternity. If the skiff obeyed the counter blast that was upon them and swept towards the breakers, they were lost; still there was a hope, if it veered upon the rock which loomed out from the shore. The moon gave light enough to enable them to watch the scene and see their danger. Again the conflicting blasts struck them; the boat reeled, righted itself and was dashing by the rock, upon which the two men sprang by a simultaneous movement. A few more vigorous leaps and they reached the shore, standing there for a moment in breathless awe. Then they commenced hauling in the crippled boat, which the blast had seized upon and was tearing out to sea. "Safe!" cried Mellen, in a tone of hearty thanksgiving. "I did think that the brave little craft would go down, but thank God, we are on dry land." "Safe and defeated!" muttered North, turning his face from the wind. "The storm that helped me two days ago proves treacherous now." "Come!" shouted Mellen, lashing the cable to a stunted pine that grew in a cleft of the rock, "come up to the house, we shall find a fire there and a glass of brandy. The old man will send some of his people for the luggage." North made no answer, but moved off towards the house, which he passed, walking moodily towards the village. Mellen went up to the tavern. CHAPTER XXIII. DEAD AND GONE. Lights shone cheerfully through the uncurtained windows of the Sailor's Safe Anchor, and the stranger could see the inmates of the dwelling gathered about the tea-table, looking comfortable enough to make a strong contrast to the chill and darkness without. "There is not the least change," he muttered, drawing his cloak more closely about him; "I could almost think I had been gone only since morning, instead of two years." He hurried on to the house, and hardly waiting for his imperative knock to be answered, pushed open the door and entered the kitchen. The old fisherman looked tranquilly up at the intruder, keeping his knife poised in one hand, not easily ruffled in his serenity, while the younger members of the family stared with all their might at the tall man, whose garments were dripping wet, driven by the storm into their dwelling. "Good evenin', sir," said the old man; "it's a dark, wet night--wont you sit down?" "I want a horse and a man," said Mellen, betraying by the haste in which he spoke, and his impatient movements, that he was too hurried for much attention to the old man's attempt at civility. "I want to go to the other end of the bay--can you let me have a horse and some one to look after my luggage?" "What, to-night?" demanded the old man. "Why you can't want to go round the bay to-night."