“It is a sail—a strange sail! Compose yourself, dear Britomarte,” answered Mr. Rosenthal, without removing his eye from the glass. “A sail!” she repeated, breathlessly. “Yes, dear!” “Oh, Justin!” “It stands in toward the island.” “She sees our signal!” “No, I think not, unless the captain’s glass is better than mine; for with mine I cannot make out her colors yet, and our signal is no more conspicuous.” “Are you sure she is coming in here?” “Yes.” “But why, unless she sees our signal?” “She has been driven out of her course by the gale of yesterday; but probably she has safely outridden the storm. She may be coming hither in search of fresh water or wood.” “Oh! Justin, if she should strike that sunken reef of rocks as our poor ship did?” “She will not do so, dear! She is steering clear of the rocks and for that little cove to leeward of them.” “Oh! Justin, Justin, then she will surely anchor there. And we—we shall be rescued! Oh! we shall see our fellow-beings and our native land again! The thought makes me reel with joy and—suspense!” exclaimed Miss Conyers, really growing dizzy with emotion, and clasping the flagstaff for support. “Dear sister, calm yourself.” “Ah! how can I? Our case seemed so hopeless! and now the thought that we shall be rescued and taken back to our native country overwhelms me! Oh, to leave this! to go home! it is like bursting the bonds of the grave, and rising from death to life! To go home!—to go home! Oh, Justin, does she draw near? Are you sure that she does not turn her head to steer away again?” “Sure.” “At what rate does she seem to sail? Is she making rapid progress?” persisted Britomarte. “She is making very rapid progress, though I cannot tell you at how many knots an hour she is sailing. There! I can see her colors now.” “You can! What are they? English? Dutch?” “I think they are our own Stars and Stripes—the most beautiful national colors that fly!” “Oh, Justin—Oh, Justin! Our own dear Star-Spangled Banner! That would be too much joy!” “I think it is our flag. I am not sure, because I cannot yet see very distinctly. I think it is, because I see the red and the white; but I cannot make out the blue field with the white stars.” “That would not be so conspicuous against a background of blue white and white foam; but you will see the whole presently,” said Miss Conyers. Justin continued to gaze through his telescope at the stranger for a few minutes longer, and then he spoke: “Britomarte!” “Yes, Justin.” “They are not the Stars and Stripes.” “Oh, Justin! I am so sorry! But then we ought to be glad and grateful for any flag that should come to our rescue. What is it, then, Justin? The Union Jack; that would be the next best thing.” “No; it is not the Union Jack.” “What is it, then? Can’t you speak and tell us, dear Justin?” said Britomarte, a little impatiently.