But when, soon after, the door was closed, and the lights had their usual appearance, the flicker of hope sank down into a deeper darkness. Alice turned to her father, and in close embrace and with a oneness of spirit and hope that needed not outward expression, they silently lifted their thoughts from the dark earth to the bright heaven whose portals they soon expected to enter. Just then a voice from earth recalled them to earthly hope and the prospect of human help. It was Hemstead's shout of encouragement from the shore. Then they saw the glimmer of a lantern moving hither and thither; a moment later it became stationary, then shot out towards them. With cries of joy they recognized that they had been seen, and that an attempt to rescue them was being made. In the apathy of their despair the water had gained dangerously; but with the energy of hope, that is ever greater than that of fear or despair, they set to work anew. Again the wintry winds tossed Mr. Martell's white hair, as for want of something better he baled with his hat, and Alice's little numb hands were lifted every moment as if in pathetic appeal, as she dipped them in the ice-cold water at her feet, and threw out a tiny cupful, which the gale carried away in spray. "Come quick. We can't keep afloat much longer," cried the oarsman. "Ay, ay," shouted the ex-sailor in a voice as hoarse as the winds in the cordage of his old ship. "Courage!" cried Hemstead; and his tones, in contrast, rang out like a bugle, inspiring hope in the chilled hearts of those who, a little before, had despaired, and also sending an almost equal thrill of delight to the heart of Lottie Marsden, as, with the half-frenzied Harcourt, she stood in Mrs. Marchmont's open door. The sailor-coachman was a good oarsman, and Hemstead pulled fairly. Both were very strong, and they drove the boat through the short, chopping waves, rather than over them, caring not how much water was shipped. A little later came the shout, "Quick, quick! The ice is giving under us, and the boat sinking." "Oh! come!--save my father!" cried Alice Martell, in a tone that might have moved the very ice around her to pity. "My child, my child!" came the agonized voice of the father. "Never think of me, if you can save her." Hemstead's nature was anthracite, and now glowed at white heat in his grand excitement. He was no longer a man, but a giant, and would have ruined everything, snapped his oars, dragged the oar-pins from their sockets, thus rendering his massive strength utterly useless, had not the cool, wary ex-sailor taken command of the little craft, and insisted on seamanship. Under his skilful direction the student was like a powerful engine, with a steady, measured stroke, and the boat fairly flew, until their oars struck floating ice, and then they had to slacken up, for to strike a mass of ice at their speed would be to sink at once. "Steady now," cried the ex-sailor. "You pull; I will stand and steer."