When they reached the margin of the sea, Charles took Lucy in his arms like a child, and carried her through the water to the boat. Hailes performed the same office for the maid, and then the good fisherman lingered for a moment, once more to kiss and call a blessing on his boy. But a sound that he heard upon the beach caused him to cut his farewell short. It was that of a quick step coming along the shingles and the form of a man was clearly discerned, running with all speed toward them. The fisherman run into the water to the boat as fast as possible, and he and Charles Tyrrell using their united strength to push her off, she was afloat in a moment. The boy had run back to the cottage, but the man who had been seen approaching came up at full speed, shouting:-- "Boat, ahoy! boat, ahoy! I want to go off to the ship." "Perhaps he really does," said Charles Tyrrell. "Push off, push off," said Hailes in a low voice, and with an agitated manner; but, then immediately shouted in a louder tone, "I will take you when I come back again;" but still, while the boat got rapidly out to sea, he looked back toward the shore, and then much to the surprise of Charles Tyrrell, said, "He's not coming--he's not coming!" "He's not coming!" echoed Charles Tyrrell. "What do you mean, Hailes? he would be drowned." Hailes made no answer, and Charles Tyrrell applied himself to comfort and support his fair Lucy. Agitation, terror, and sorrow had by this time completely overpowered her, and while Charles supported her with his arm, and held her hand in his, she leaned her head upon his bosom, and for several minutes indulged in silent tears. The sea, however, was by no means rough; the gray of the morning was changing into purple; the haze which had obscured the sky cleared away, and a bright star was seen walking in beauty before the coming sun. "Look, dear Lucy, look!" said Charles Tyrrell, pointing to the star on which she turned her dewy eyes at his bidding, "surely that is hope." CHAPTER XX. The sun had risen high, the day was bright and beautiful; the green sea was just curled by a light breeze, and the schooner (of which by the way, Captain Longly was undoubtedly a principal owner) skimmed quickly but easily over the waters. Having no nautical knowledge, we shall leave all the particulars of the sailing of the ship to the imagination of our readers, which, in all probability, will do much more for it than anything that we could do, and confine our attention solely to the persons in whose fate we have already endeavoured to interest the world.