The Bishop also wrote to Clement, and to Sir Jasper and others; but he also could say little, only that he trusted that Angela and Bernard were safe elsewhere, having heard them called, and, as he believed, seen them off in the first boat, so that probably they had been already heard of before these letters arrived. Their own party had been spared from being dashed against the rocks almost by a miracle; and Agatha Prescott’s courage and readiness, as now her nursing faculties, were beyond all praise, as indeed was the brave patience of Miss Mohun. He could only look on and be thankful, and hope for tidings of those who were as his own children. The next day’s letters spoke of the doctor as so much perplexed about Wilfred, and nothing had been heard at Larne of the other boats. But no tidings came; there was too much cause to fear that the first boat had been borne away by the currents and swamped. Lady Merrifield could not leave Phyllis in such a crisis of suspense, and Sir Jasper was hardly fit for such a journey, so that his wife was much relieved when her brother, General Mohun, came to Clipstone, and undertook to hasten out to Corncastle, with money and appliances, including a nurse. “Oh, Reggie, always good at need! I hardly dare to send my good old Halfpenny—!” “No, Mamma, send me. You know I had the ambulance lessons with Nag,” said Mysie, “and we could get a real nurse from Belfast or Dublin, if it was wanted.” So it was arranged, and uncle and niece started, but hope faded more and more! Were those two precious young lives so early quenched? CHAPTER XXXI—THE WRECK “How purer were earth, if all its martyrdoms, If all its struggling sighs of sacrifice Were swept away!” E. HAMILTON KING. NO tidings of Bernard and Angela. The suspense began to diminish into “wanhope” or despair; and the brothers and sisters continued to say that they were sorry above all for Phyllis, whose gentle sweetness had made her one with them. But at last, one forenoon, a telegram was put into Clement’s hand, dated from Ewmouth: _Muriel Ellen_, Ewmouth Harbour, October 14th. Blaine to Rev. Underwood. Brother here. Come to infirmary. Clement and Geraldine lost no time in driving to the infirmary, too anxious to speak to one another. Blaine’s name was known to them as a Gwenworth lad, who had gone to sea, and risen to be sailing master of the _Muriel Ellen_, a trader plying between Londonderry and Bristol. He, with another, who proved to be the American captain of the _Afra_, were at the gate of the hospital, where an ambulance had just entered. “Oh! Sir,” as Clement held out his hand, “I could not save her. I’d have given my life!” “My brother?” as Clement returned his grasp fervently. “We’ve just got him in here, Sir. I hope! I hope! And here’s the doctor.”