Their boat was roughly grazed several times, but glided through without serious injury. "Now or never!" cried the oarsman; "we're sinking." Alice hid her face on her father's breast. Life had grown strangely sweet during the brief time since, at Hemstead's voice, hope had revived; and it seemed a bitter thing to perish almost within the grasp of rescuing hands. "Oh! come!" groaned the father. "Great God! this is hard." With a despairing cry she heard the water rush and gurgle around her, and closed her eyes, not expecting to open them again in this world. But strong hands grasped and lifted her drenched, helpless form tenderly into the boat. With mingled hope and fear she looked up, and by the lantern's light recognized Frank Hemstead. "My father," she gasped. "Safe, my darling, thank God," said Mr. Martell, taking her into his arms; "and they have pulled our stout oarsman in, too. So we are all safe." "Well, I hope so," said the ex-sailor, with a little depressive dubiousness. "We shipped a sight o' water comin' out. There's a deal of ice runnin', and so chopped up one can skerce see it. I must be skipper and all, mind, if we are to come safe out. Here, Mr. Hemstead, you bale; and you, too, messmate, if yer hain't shipped too much water yerself. I'll sit well up towards the bow, where I can see and pull around the ice. Besides, with this cargo, we've got to cross the waves kind o' easy and keerful, or they'll swamp us." Thus in this instance the ex-sailor appeared a special providence, and gradually took them out of the ice-strewn tide in the centre of the river to smoother, clearer water nearer the shore. Soon after, drenched and half-frozen, they reached Mrs. Marchmont's boat-house. Miss Martell's powers of endurance were nearly exhausted; and when the lantern, held aloft, revealed Harcourt's pale face,--when she knew that it was his arms that received her in her helplessness, and she heard him murmur, "I now believe there's a merciful God, and thank Him,"--in the strong reaction of feeling she became unconscious. CHAPTER XXVII. THE MEETING AND GREETING. Mr. Martell's garments were frozen upon him, and he was so stiff and numb with cold that with difficulty he made his way up the bank with the support of De Forrest and the gallant coachman, who had suddenly blossomed out into a hero. Harcourt and Hemstead formed with their hands what is termed a "chair," and bore the apparently lifeless form of Miss Martell swiftly towards Mrs. Marchmont's residence. The poor oarsman was so glad to be on solid ground once more that he was able to hobble along at a good pace by himself. The wind again played mad pranks with Lottie's hair as she at last stood impatiently on the piazza, and then dashed off through the snow to meet them. "O, thank God, you are safely back. But Miss Martell--she is not--she is not--" "Don't suggest such a thing," groaned Harcourt. "Of course she has only fainted."