And then his thoughts turned to Russell, who was still unconscious; and stooping down he kissed fondly the pale white forehead of his friend. He felt _then_, how deeply he loved him, how much he owed him; and no mother could have nursed a child more tenderly than he did the fainting boy. Russell’s head rested on his breast, and the soft hair, tangled with welling blood, stained his clothes. Eric feared that he would die, his fainting-fit continued so long, and from the helpless way in which one of his legs trailed on the ground he felt sure that he had received some dangerous hurt. At last Russell stirred and groaned. “Where am I?” he said, and half opened his eyes; he started up frightened, and fell-back heavily. He saw only the darkness; felt only the fierce wind and salt mist; heard only the relentless yell of the blast. Memory had no time to wake, and he screamed and fainted once more. Poor Eric knew not what to do but to shelter him to the best of his power, and when he showed any signs of consciousness again, he bent over him, and said, “Don’t you remember, Edwin? We’re quite safe. I’m with you, and Monty’s gone for help.” “Oh! I daren’t jump,” sobbed Russell; “oh mother, I shall be drowned. Save me! save me! I’m so glad they’re safe, mother; but my leg hurts so.” And he moaned again. He was delirious. “How cold it is, and wet too! where’s Eric? are we bathing? run along, we shall be late. But stop, you’re smoking. Dear Eric, don’t smoke. Poor fellow, I’m afraid he’s getting spoilt, and learning bad ways. Oh save him.” And as he wandered on, he repeated a prayer for Eric, which evidently had been often on his lips. Eric was touched to the heart’s core, and in one rapid lightning-like glance, his memory revealed to him the faultful past, in all its sorrowfulness. And _he_, too, prayed wildly for help both for soul and body. Alone on the crag, with the sea tumbling and plashing round them, growing and gaining so much on their place of refuge, that his terror began to summon up the image of certain death; alone, wet, hungry, and exhausted, with the wounded and delirious boy, whose life depended on his courage, he prayed as he had never prayed before, and seemed to grow calmer by his prayer, and to feel God nearer him than ever he had done in the green cricket-field, or the safe dormitories of Roslyn school. A shout startled him. Lights on the water heaved up and down, now disappearing, and now lifted high, and at intervals there came the sound of voices. Thank God! help was near; they were coming in a boat to save them. But the lights grew more distant; he saw then disappearing towards the harbor. Yes! it was of no use; no boat could live in the surf at the foot of the Stack cliffs, and the sailors had given it up in despair. His heart sank again, all the more for the glimpse of hope, and his strength began to give way. Russell’s delirium continued, and he grew too frightened even to pray.