“We are nearly opposite to the promontory, Hagar, and we must now go ashore, or keep on down the bay to the Capes.” “Oh, go on shore by all means! What suggested the other alternative?” “What? Poor thing, you know nothing! It is a frightful night to go on shore, Hagar. We stand out a mile from the land, and cannot even see the shore through thick and driving hail and sleet. Then, the beach must be covered knee-deep with snow, and the ascent to the promontory nearly impracticable from ice—that is to say, for _you_, Hagar.” “For _me_—you forget, Gusty, overwhelmed, as you see me, by mental troubles, you know that I am nearly invincible before physical ills and obstacles. I can see my way through the darkest night that ever shrouded earth—keep my footing firm in the ascent of the most slippery and dangerous precipice in the world. Thank God! my physical powers are not destroyed yet.” “You are feeling better—your spirits are rising, Hagar.” “Oh, they are, they are, to be under the shadow of my old Hall again! I think that I shall no sooner step upon my native heath, than I shall feel life and spirits strike up through my feet, filling my whole frame with strength and power.” “Passengers for Heath Hall, get ready,” yelled a voice from the deck. “Come, Hagar, get the children and yourself ready quickly, while I see the trunks lowered to the skiff.” “But, oh! these children! these children! after all, perhaps we had better stay here, than expose _them_ to the storm.” “They shall not suffer from exposure to the storm; _I_ will carry the babies, and take care of that—so if you think that you can get along and keep your footing ascending the cliff, we had better go ashore notwithstanding all I have said; for it threatens to be a horrible night, and God Almighty only knows what may be the fate of the packet before day.”