Suddenly the ship rose upon a mighty wave—up, up she went, until every trembling passenger held his breath with awe; then she plunged headlong down into the raging deep, with a sinking, sickening sensation that chilled the blood and made the flesh creep with fear. The next moment another terrific wave struck her, with a noise like the roar of a hundred cannon, and with a force which made her quiver like a frightened creature from stem to stern; and in the dread pause which followed, and which was fraught with horrible suspense, the little maid clasped her small hands and cast an appealing glance at her gray-haired companion. He, seeing it, smiled grimly as he asked, in rather a gruff tone: “Afraid, sis?” Before she could answer him the vessel gave another tremendous lurch, and she was rudely precipitated almost into the arms of her questioner. He caught her just in time to save her from being dashed against the iron post by which he was sitting, and when she had recovered her breath a little, he put her gently down beside him, keeping one strong arm around her to save her from a second fall. “This is pretty rough weather. Are you afraid?” he asked again, and looking with something of pity down upon her white face. “It startles me to have the vessel pitch and tremble so, and those dreadful waves seem as if they want to swallow us; but I know that nothing can harm us, unless——” “Unless what?” the old man queried, as she hesitated and glanced shyly up at him, a tinge of color coming into her cheeks. “Unless it is God’s will,” she answered, reverently. A sneer curled her companion’s lip at this reply; but the sweet eyes looking up into his seemed to touch some tender memory, for it quickly died, and he repressed the skeptical words to which he was about to give utterance. But she _felt_ it, nevertheless, and, with a grave look and serious tone, she asked: “Don’t you believe that God rules the storm, and that He will take care of us?” “My experience all through life has been that I have had to take care of _myself_,” he returned, with some bitterness. “And I have been taught to trust ‘our Heavenly Father.’ I think one would hardly have much faith in _one’s self_ at such a time as this,” the little maiden said, with a look of awe and an involuntary shudder, as another wave broke over them. The man by her side felt the gentle rebuke, but he evaded it by saying: “I think no harm will come to us. I have crossed the Atlantic many times; I have sailed upon other oceans, and have been in storms equal to, if not worse, than this. I do not fear the elements much in one of these well-built boats. There is only one thing at sea that I _really_ feel _afraid_ of.” “And what is that?” “Fire.” He felt the thrill of fear that went vibrating through her whole frame as he uttered the dread word, and appeared to regret having added to her apprehension, for he continued, reassuringly: