What was to be done, however, had to be done quickly. The vessel had struck on a great rock, the billows were sweeping over her, and she might go to pieces any minute. The storm, although it had not yet reached its full height, was rapidly rising, the wind blew louder and louder, until we could scarcely hear each other speak. The men we had saved were battered and bruised and nearly unconscious. As I think of it now it is a wonder to me that they escaped death. I tied the rope round my waist, and then asked Bill to lower me down by the slippery rock. At first he objected to this, but I insisted, and soon stood upon a broad flat ledge which was close to the wreck. My object now was to get upon the vessel, but that was not easy of accomplishment; the great breakers were constantly sweeping over the vessel, and I began to despair of rendering assistance. I determined to try, however, and after many vain attempts, reached the deck. To look for anyone there was madness. No woman could stay in such a place. Either she had been swept away or she must be down below. In spite of storm and darkness I found my way there. The vessel was half full of water, and I felt that it would be worse than useless to attempt to find anyone in the darkness. Just then I heard a cry for help. I cannot describe what followed. I have a dim recollection of grasping a cold hand, of struggling to the deck, of holding fast by the broken mast, and of a terrible wave that swept me quite away. After that all was oblivion. When I woke to consciousness I was in my own bed, with my father and Deborah Teague sitting near me. At first everything seemed hazy, then things became more real, until all the events of the storm flashed before my mind. "How did I come here?" I asked. "God helped us to save you, Roger, my boy," said my father. "How?" I asked, faintly. "I got impatient of your being away so long, and so one of the other lads succeeded in getting on the rock, while I, wanting to be near you, followed him. I got to the long prong in time to see you swept off the deck." "And then, father?" "Then I went down to the broad ledge and found you both unconscious. You had been stunned by the awful force with which you were hurled on the rock." "And she, father, the--the--one who was with me?" "We got you both in the boat after awhile. God only knows the difficulty we had, for the storm rose every minute. Had the rock been further out at sea I don't think we could have weathered it; but the gridiron point broke the force of the wind just a little!" "And is she well, father?" "A great deal bruised, my boy, and very weak, but she'll recover." "Who is she?" I asked after being silent for a few moments. "Her name is Ruth Morton; she is my old friend's only child," answered my father, slowly. I turned on my pillow wearily. I was tired and sore, and wanted rest.