"We have had a strange meeting, my young friend, and have struggled together in behalf of human life, peradventure with success." The youth again swept a hand over his face. "Yes, yes. I remember a ship in the distance--a boat full of people rocking in the foam--a madman jumping overboard--I--you in the waves. Tell me, old man, was this real?" "Truly it was." "And the lady--this house--the woman at her spinning-wheel, who brought herb tea to my bed. That lady--me, good friend, for I remember all--how fares the lady?" "She is safe--thanks to a merciful Providence--and sleeping profoundly in the next room, at least such was the report of Goody Brown, in the kitchen yonder, ten minutes ago. She must not be disturbed. I had not broken in upon your sleep, either, but the sun is up, and perchance there is some one in town who may be grieved at your absence. You must have friends, and I would cheerfully bear them tidings of your safety." "Friends!" cried the youth, starting up. "Indeed, there is one who will have wept her eyes out by this time. I pray you, sir, hand me such garments as the storm has left. We must start together for the town." "Willingly," answered the minister, bringing the desired garments in from the kitchen fire. "But put on your garments in haste, for the morning wears; meanwhile I will speak a word with our host." Half an hour after, the minister and his young friend quitted the farm-house, leaving the woman they had saved in the deep slumber of exhaustion. CHAPTER III. THE MINISTER. Norman Lovel and the old minister walked on toward the town in company. The earth was still wet and heavy after the storm, and a sullen moan came up from the depths of the far-off ocean, which filled the bright morning as with a wail of sorrow. But the old man was strong, and the youth full of that elasticity which springs more from the soul than the body. If either of them felt any evil effect from the storm, the vigorous speed at which they walked bore no evidence of it. For some time they moved on in silence. The minister seemed lost in a reverie; the youth was thinking, with strange interest, on the lady he had left behind. They came down upon the shore where the accident of the previous night had happened. A fragment of the boat lay where it had ploughed in upon the sand, burying itself so firmly that the waves had failed to draw it back again, and so had lost their plaything. The two men paused a moment, looking at the broken timbers. The youth shuddered. "To think," he said, looking wistfully at his companion,--"to think that these treacherous bits of wood alone kept her from the deep, and I--you--it seems all like a dream." "It seems like the great mercy it was," said the minister, lifting his eyes to heaven; "for of a verity we were but as two rushes in the midst of the waves, frail like the timbers at our feet, and as easily broken. Believe me, young man, God has protected this poor lady with his especial providence."