“But you _are_,” said she, speaking rapidly, “you are pale and weak, you were thrown upon a sharp rock, your shoulder was struck and wounded; you have lost much blood; it crimsoned the wave when you first rose, though now it has been staunched by the cold water, and the stains are almost effaced—come home! oh, come! lean on my arm, Raymond, it is strong if it is a little one,—for once let me assist you as you have heretofore sustained me. Come, Raymond! come, brother! come!” and her wild eyes softened into gentleness, and her proud eyes into pleading, as, standing on a point of rock above him, she held down her hand imploringly, to assist in the ascent. He smiled gently, and man-like, scorned, while he could do without it, to receive from her the help he so much needed. Turning to the sailors, he told them to seek the Hall, pointing out the shortest path of ascent. They were quick in following his direction, and had reached the top of the heath and carried the news of the wreck, the preservation of the crew, and announced the arrival of Raymond Withers, while the latter was yet toiling, pale and nearly fainting, at the side of the cliff. Hagar climbed or waited, beside him. At length they reached the top, and paused. Raymond was breathless and reeling—his wound, started by his toil, was bleeding afresh. “My brother, why will you not let me help you?” pleaded Hagar, again offering her hand. He shook his head mournfully,—he was too faint to talk, and signed for her to lead the way to the hall, where he followed, painfully. In the closed and curtained chamber Mr. Withers slumbered. The noise of the storm faintly murmured through that inner room, only lulling him into deeper sleep. Sophie, in her reveries, had not thought of the possibility of a packet exposed to the storm, far less of Raymond’s danger; so that before she had thought of peril, the shipwrecked sailors stood before her, claiming shelter. Hagar and Raymond slowly approached the Hall, and entered it. “Now, dear Raymond, your father is sleeping, I think; go and change your clothes, and lie down and rest before you present yourself to him; your clothes are lost, I suppose; but come with me and I will show you into your father’s dressing-room; you can furnish yourself from his wardrobe.” Then seeing how pale he looked and noticing his bleeding wound, she hastily said;—“But oh! of what am I thinking? Let me call Sophie to dress your wound.” And conducting him into a dressing-room, she turned to leave him to summon Sophie. He had sunk exhausted into a deep chair, and holding out his arms, said, very calmly— “Come, Hagar, my little sister, you have given me no kiss of welcome since I came. Come, Hagar!” She started, turned, made one step towards him, paused, the blood rushed to her brow, then recovered herself, waved him a smiling denial, and left the room. And yet she had met the kiss of Gusty May with saucy cordiality.