Did the classical scholar think of the Hellespont as he breasted the waves, or remember the fate of the far-famed Leander? The night was such as to create despondency, without referring to the classical allusion. But the Christian Latimer knew what Leander did not--that God was his help. He had not presumptuously braved the waves for a secret amour, and, much as he admired the true love of Leander, he felt himself in a very different position, though Freston Tower was then his aim, and he hoped that Ellen De Freston might be expecting his return. Great were his repeated exertions, but he felt his strength beginning to fail him! He looked up at the light, and he thought it less distinct. He felt a strange dimness overshadow his brain, a nervous prostration of strength, and a weakness, which made him anxious only to exert himself the more. The light from the tower suddenly disappeared. Oh! how his soul seemed to sink; and not only his soul, for a dimness, like a film, seemed to spread itself over his eyes, and his hands and his feet to sink lower, and to strike feebler beneath the waves. Strange mists are beginning to fill those longing eyes, and sparkling, star-like lights to flit across his vision. 'And is it thy will, O Lord!' was the last exclamation from his fainting lips, as he lifted his head in the darkness, and his feet sank motionless downwards. That very motion in one moment convinced him of God's mercy; that it was His will he should be saved. He felt the ground; his feet touched the shore. With a bound of joy, such as angels may be supposed to feel at the returning steps of the repentant, he sprang forward--the tide had previously turned--the wave helped him--and the flash of the now friendly lightning showed him the stair of De Freston just before him! One effort more--aloud cry of joy, and for help--he seized the step of the stair--vain his effort to ascend; too weak, too feeble, too exhausted, he fell, still grasping the lowest step of De Freston's landing-place. All consciousness was gone; instinctively he grasped the step, and every wave became less powerful, until it only washed against his feet. Ellen De Freston had cautioned her maid to take the lamp out of the way of the window whilst she opened the casement looking down upon the waves. Hers was rather a dangerous position, in a lofty tower surrounded by trees, in the very midst of thunder and lightning. Many minds would quail before such terrors; but love is very strong, and when aided by education, and divested of all superstition, it in a power of dependence upon God stronger than a castle. She felt that her father and her friend were absent; that they were returning from sacred duties, difficult to fulfil, and requiring the assistance of her loving aid. Who can watch so well as they who wish for our safety? And who can do this better than an affectionate child?