While the congregation were yet in the church, the violent rattling of the windows told of the sudden coming on of a storm; and as soon as the door was opened at the close of the service, the blast of cold air which swept in was so strong, that but for the help of her father's arm, Nelly could scarcely have stood against it. The whole sky was covered with dark leaden clouds, sweeping on rapidly one after another; the wind had swelled into a gale, while the broad dashes of foam over the whole extent of waters, and the waves that rolled on and broke upon the beach, flinging high in the air their showers of white spray, showed the fury of the raging storm! "I hope and trust that Ned Goldie is not on the sea!" exclaimed Nelly. A crowd was collected on the shore, which was now increased by the greater part of the late congregation. Every eye was strained in one direction, where a little boat was seen, tossed like a nut-shell on the foaming waves, and many an exclamation of pity or of fear burst from the anxious lookers-on. "I'd not for a hundred guineas be in that boat!" said one. "He'll never get her into shore." "I thought she'd have capsized then!" exclaimed another. "Why on earth does he not take in the sail?" "Isn't it Ned Goldie?" said Mrs. Winter, who, prayer-book in hand, stood one of the foremost in the crowd. "He'd better have been listening in his place in church than taking his Sunday pleasure, poor fellow!" "Heaven have mercy upon him!" faltered Nelly, clasping her hands, and looking with terror upon the little boat, which seemed half swallowed up amidst the swelling billows. "It is he! It is my boy! Oh! Can no one save him?" shrieked the voice of his wretched mother, as she stood with arms extended wildly towards him, the wind blowing back the hair from her pale horror-stricken face—watching the boat that held the idol of her heart. Another awful gust. The boy was seen in the boat, vainly trying to furl the fluttering, struggling sail; then there was a cry heard even above the roaring storm. "She's over! She's down! He's lost!" The mother lay senseless on the beach—her son was struggling in the midst of the waves! "God have pity on him! He cannot swim!" cried Mrs. Winter. Nelly had closed her eyes in horror, a word from her father made her look round in new fear. "Is it not madness to attempt it?" said Viner. Walter had stripped off his coat and waistcoat, and was preparing to plunge into the surf. "O Walter!" exclaimed Nelly, stretching out her hand; but she dared not utter the entreaty that rose to her lips—she dared not stop him in the course of duty. "Pray for me!" whispered Walter. There was no time to say more—the next moment she saw him battling with the waves.