It was a fearful night; the wind had risen imperceptibly from the wild whispers which crept over the Firth in the earlier evening to a shifting, coarse, impetuous gale. The lightning, as it burst in sheets over the earth, revealed strange glimpses of the shivering summer foliage and verdure, which bore so strange a contrast to the storm raging above. Anne saw nothing but the black, weltering water--the helpless drifting ship--the deadly danger of some souls--the help that might be rendered them. Before she reached Schole, Miss Crankie and Jacky overtook her--none of them spoke. All were agitated, excited, and anxious--all were looking eagerly towards the sea. Another flash--the black waters were dashing high up on those feeble spars. Clinging to them in the wild vehemence of despair were several men, and one slight shadow bound as it seemed to the mast--could it be a woman in that extremity? The hull was covered--the waters appeared to rise higher every moment.--There was a little knot of people on the sands--was there no help? Again the deadly illumination bursts over sea and sky. There is a figure struggling through the surge--you catch a glimpse of him--now fighting through the foam--now buffeting with the black waves. Anne and her companions are already on the sands; they see a strong rope trailing over the wet shore--the other end is fastened round the body of this brave man. The little knot on the shore is sternly silent--fearfully anxious. No one looks in the face of his neighbor they are watching with intense, unswerving gaze, the progress of that adventurer across the gloomy water. Even Anne scarcely notes that the gates of Schole stand open, and there are lights within! They see him again further in, when the next flash comes, fighting vigorously through the waves; the dark figures on the yards of the helpless ship have ceased to cry--they too are watching (who can tell with what agonies of fear and hope?) the speck that fights towards them through the turbid gloom of that dark sea. There is a long pause this time, between the lightning and its accompanying thunder. In the dense gloom they can discover nothing of his progress. They wait in intense anxiety for the next flash. The water is bathed in light again: he is returning. He carries an indistinct burden in one arm, guiding himself painfully as they can discern by the tightened rope. The men on shore assist him warily--another long buffeting--another breathless watch, and he has reached solid land again. Who is this man? Anne Ross's eyes are strained eagerly to discover. The light from a lantern streams on a woman carried in his arms; he did not wait to bring her fully to the land, but placing her in the hold of one of the lookers on, turned instantly back again--back through the gloomy, heaving, turbid water, to save more lives--to complete the work he had begun.