And before the light of the other candle blazed, the room was filled with sailors, storm-beaten, dripping wet, two of the foremost of whom bore the body of a fainting woman in their arms. It was Agnes. “Where is Hugh—where is your captain? My God! where is Hugh?” exclaimed Miss Joe, as her eyes roamed over this wild party in the vain quest of her nephew. “We left the captain on the deck of his vessel. He refused to leave it while a man remained on board. We are going back for him, and half a dozen others,” said the mate, looking about in haste for a place to lay Agnes; then, putting her in the arms of old Dodgy, he turned, with three others of the men, and left the house for the beach. “Too late! too late! I saw the ship go down myself!” exclaimed Miss Joe, beside herself with grief. “What must I do with this here young ’oman, Miss Ally?” inquired Diogenes of his mistress. “Take her upstairs, Diogenes, and I will go up and attend to her,” said Alice. And leaving Miss Joe and the shipwrecked sailors below, Alice followed the old negro with his burden upstairs. But there a scene of ruin met her startled gaze. The roof had been reft from the house in the storm; the rain had poured through the ceiling of the loft and drenched the bed-chambers. One of the beds, however, being in a more protected angle of the room, was comparatively dry. This Alice turned over, and upon this the old negro was directed to lay his insensible burden. While Alice was rubbing and chafing the cold, cold hands and feet of the shipwrecked girl, a loud cry of despair came up from below. She hastened downstairs to know the cause. The mate had returned from a fruitless errand. The _Belle Agnes_ had gone down with all left on board, and among them the brave and generous Captain Hugh Hutton! * * * * * Within the next three dreadful hours, “in night and storm and darkness,” a man-child was born—son of the storm and the wreck—heir of a desert and a ruin! CHAPTER XIII. THE DESOLATE HOUSE. Alas! It desolately stands Without a roof, the gates fallen from their band, The casements all broke down, no chimney left! _—Allan Ramsay._ The sun rose next morning upon a scene of ruin that defies description. The house was almost a wreck. The roof, the chimneys, and the shutters of the upper story were gone. The windows were shattered and driven in. The grounds also were literally laid waste. All traces of field, and garden, and flower yard were washed away. Trees were torn up by the roots, fences were leveled, outbuildings blown down, and all swept away by the flood. Cattle and poultry were drowned, and their bodies carried off by the sea.