The rest of the schooner’s crew had been hard at work catching fish since daylight, and during their conversation Breeze and Wolfe had also been busy with their lines. Several other schooners were still in sight, though at long distances from them. Most of the fleet had been scattered far and wide by the gale, which, though short, had been one of the severest of the season. After it was over many of the fishing vessels returned to port to refit, while the fate of others was told by the melancholy signs of wreck and disaster that every now and then floated past the _Albatross_. Her skipper knew that for a time fresh fish would command an extra price in the Eastern market, and so was anxious to carry in as large a fare as possible. For this reason, in spite of the damaged condition of his vessel, he remained on the bank two days longer before getting up the anchors that had held her so well, and heading for home. In the mean time tidings of the gale and its destruction of lives and vessels had reached Gloucester, and had caused the greatest anxiety there. As one after another of the schooners that had escaped sailed into the harbor, their crews were eagerly questioned for news of this one or that one not yet heard from. At last one came in bringing with her a dory that she had picked up, and on which was stencilled the name “_Albatross_.” Her skipper reported that on the night of the awful storm, during a slight lull, he had caught a momentary glimpse of two lights. They were so close together that the vessels bearing them must have been in collision. They bore from him just as the _Albatross_ had when he last saw her. As he looked the lights suddenly disappeared, either from the shutting in again of the snow, or because they had gone to the bottom. Soon afterwards his own craft had parted her cables, but had managed to weather the gale, and on the following day he had picked up this dory. That was all, but it seemed to seal the fate of the schooner, whose return had until then been watched for so hopefully and so anxiously. Mrs. McCloud had made Captain Coffin, who was still at home, promise to bring her the very first tidings, whether good or bad, that should come. Now with a heavy heart he walked slowly towards the little cottage, in which sorrow was becoming so familiar a visitor. The moment he opened the door, and the anxious loving mother caught sight of his face, she exclaimed, “He is lost; my boy is lost! I know he is! I can see it in your face!” “You must not give up all hope yet,” said the captain, soothingly, seeking to comfort her, though he felt that his words would be in vain. “We do not yet know certainly the fate of the _Albatross_, though we have every reason to fear the worst.” CHAPTER VIII. A FALSE FRIEND, AND AN OPEN ENEMY.