At last the ebbing tide left the floor of the cavern, and the shingly beach without it, completely dry, when the red sinking sun was nearly level with the sea, all crimsoned now; and giving his hand to his pretty namesake, he led her forth, and she at once indicated a path that led from the shore to her home. Ascending this, and passing through a grove of Palmetto palms, they found themselves on the plateau of the rock from whence she had fallen, and the appearance of the place made her shrink to Derval's side, while his arm went kindly and instinctively round her. But they had not proceeded far when they came upon a group of excited searchers, perhaps the same whose voices Derval had heard, and among them were officers in undress, soldiers from the garrison, seamen from the ships, planters, clerks, and blacks, their white teeth and eyes gleaming, screaming, hallooing, and all bearing ladders, ropes, poles, drags, and even lanterns, for the darkness was close at hand now. "Papa, Papa!" suddenly exclaimed the young lady, and snatching her hand from that of Derval, she sprang like an antelope into the open arms of a careworn and haggard, but tall and distinguished-looking man, who had a decided air of good birth and breeding his planter-like costume, of a broad straw hat and white linen coat and trousers, failed to mask; and in his close embrace she sobbed hysterically. "Safe, Clara--safe, my child!" said he in a broken voice; and then there was a minute's pause, during which the haggard lines grief and alarm had suddenly drawn on his face began already to fade out. "Oh, my darling, my darling!--what miracle is this?" "That gentleman saved me, Papa; saved me, saved me!" was the sobbing reply. "But how is she harmless after such a fall?" asked her father shudderingly of those around him, and as if unable to believe the evidence of his own senses, while the crowd closed round. Derval briefly and modestly related all that had occurred. Then the father of the rescued girl wept as he pressed and retained Derval's hands in his; but failed to find language in which to thank him coherently. After a time he asked: "Do you belong to a ship of war, sir?" "No, sir." "To what, then?" asked the other, glancing at the uniform. "To the ship _Amethyst_, of London, carrying the flag of the Royal Naval Reserve," replied Derval, touching his cap, for somehow the bearing of him he addressed bore the impress of one in no small authority. The latter drew a handsome ring from his finger, and presented it to Derval, saying: "I beg that you will accept of this, and wear it in remembrance of one whose gratitude you have won for life." The stone was a magnificent onyx, and Derval saw, with a start, how that it bore a shield with three choughs, and the motto _Clarior e Tenebris_. He bowed, and placed it on his finger, saying: "May I ask whom I have the honour of addressing?"