Mr Bright was right about the speedy return of the lifeboat with her gallant crew, who seemed to rejoice in danger as if in the presence of a familiar friend, but he was wrong about the wreck being hard and fast. The rising tide shifted her a little, and drove her a few feet farther in. When the other women and children were got into the boat, Mr Bright, who stood near the mail-bags looking anxiously at them, left his position for a moment to assist Miss Gentle to the gangway. She had just been safely lowered when a tremendous wave lifted the wreck and hurled it so far over the reef that the fore part of the vessel was submerged in a pool of deep water lying between it and the shore. Mr Bright looked back and saw the hatchway disappearing. He made a desperate bound towards it, but was met by the rush of the crew, who now broke through the discipline that was no longer needed, and jumped confusedly into the lifeboat on the sea, carrying Bright along with them. On recovering his feet he saw the ship make a final plunge forward and sink to the bottom, so that nothing was left above water but part of the two funnels. The splendid lifeboat was partly drawn down, but not upset. She rose again like a cork, and in a few seconds freed herself from water through the discharging tubes in her bottom. The men struggling in the water were quickly rescued, and the boat, having finished her noble work, made for the shore amid cheers of triumph and joy. Among all the passengers in that lifeboat there was only one whose visage expressed nothing but unutterable woe. "Why, Mr Bright," said Miss Gentle, who clung to one of the thwarts beside him, and was struck by his appearance, "you seem to have broken down all at once. What has happened?" "The mail-bags!" groaned Mr Bright. "Why do you take so deep an interest in the mails?" asked Miss Gentle. "Because I happen to be connected with the post-office; and though I have no charge of them, I can't bear to see them lost," said Mr Bright with another groan, as he turned his eyes wistfully--not to the shore, at which all on board were eagerly gazing--but towards the wreck of the Royal Mail steamer _Trident_, the top of whose funnels rose black and defiant in the midst of the raging waves. CHAPTER SIX. TREATS OF POVERTY, PRIDE, AND FIDELITY. Behind a very fashionable square in a very unfashionable little street, in the west end of London, dwelt Miss Sarah Lillycrop. That lady's portion in this life was a scanty wardrobe, a small apartment, a remarkably limited income, and a tender, religious spirit. From this it will be seen that she was rich as well as poor. Her age was, by a curious coincidence, exactly proportioned to her income--the one being forty pounds, and the other forty years. She added to the former, with difficulty, by teaching, and to the latter, unavoidably, by living.