Ellen De Freston opened her casement, anxious to hear some sound of the plashing oars, or some voices upon the Orwell. She thought she heard, through the lull of the storm, a faint moan. She listened again--she did hear it. 'Hark, Maria! leave the lamp; come to the window. Hark! dost thou not hear a moan?' 'I do, my lady--I do! It is some poor wretch upon the shore!' 'Haste thee below, maiden. Come, let us haste! But hold! we must not take away the beacon.' 'Shall I run to the castle for help?' 'No, quickly descend, and ascend again with the torch that hangs upon the porch door. Quick! quick! Maria. Fly! I can still hear the moan of distress. We must be above our sex in the moment of danger.' The torch was soon lit. Neither felt the coldness of the wind, nor the fury of the storm. Some poor sufferer must be cast upon the shore; and when is a woman's heart so deeply alive, and so warmly engaged, as when conveying help to the disconsolate. The man that cannot appreciate female philanthropy knows not what true pity is. It glows so vividly, it comes so blessedly, it shines so graciously, that the most warlike men have, in all ages, been subdued by it. With rapid steps did Ellen De Freston and her maid hasten, by the burning torchlight, to the shore. Their first care was to hasten to the stair, by which they could descend to the level of the waves. They reached it. Holding down the torch, they see a form below--they descend--the light shows them at once the features of Latimer, and their tender hearts are struck with horror. A wild shriek reaches the castle of De Freston, and arouses the inmates, who were awaiting their lord's return. The ancient dame of the castle, with servants and men, came running down the green sward towards the light which they saw burning by the stairs. They soon perceive their young mistress leaning over the apparently lifeless body of a young man. They soon recognized the features, and lent their aid to remove him to the castle. Glad, indeed, was Ellen of their help, and quickly did she follow them into that place of hospitality whence a sufferer never was excluded, or failed to receive the kindest attention. But such a sufferer as then entered the walls, and under such circumstances, commanded all the interest of affection and pity. He was quickly conveyed to a warm bed. Oh! what deep anxiety dwelt in the mind of the maiden, as her unconscious friend was placed at least out of further danger, and she received the assurance of her old nurse that he was alive. She dropped upon her knees, put up her prayers for help, and every returning minute confirmed the report of his revival. Exhaustion was so great that the sufferer had no voice; his eye only could speak his thankfulness, and this seemed eloquent to heaven. Yet it beamed too with gratitude upon that dear friend who had first relieved him from his cold, dark fate on the shore of the Orwell.