Struggling with that wild sea, whose waves were still rolling inshore, about twenty feet from where the spectators stood, a man's head could be seen amid the white surf, bobbing like a fisher's float, as he swam, combating nobly with the waves, but with one hand and arm only; the other hand and arm sustained a child, who seemed already dead or partially drowned. "Oh, weelawa, it was na for nocht that the sealghs were yowling on the Partan Craig yestreen!" cried Elsie Irvine, a stout and comely matron; but from that haunt the seals have long since been scared by the river steamers. "Oh, the bairn--save the bairn--the puir wee lammie--the puir wee doo!" chorussed the women, whose maternal instincts were keenly excited, and led by Elsie's husband, several men rushed into the water, grasping each other hand-in-hand to stem alike the flow and backwash of the waves; but paralysed now by past exhaustion and by the extreme cold of the sea and atmosphere, the poor man, who was clad in a light green frock, laced with gold, could do no more to save either himself or his burden; and thus lay floating passively on the surface, drawn deep into the black trough one moment, and tossed upon the white froth of a wave-summit the next, but always far beyond the reach of those who sought to rescue him and his boy, and wild and ghastly seemed his face, when, at times, it could be seen by the light of the upheld torches. Uttering a short, sharp cry of exhaustion and despair, he suddenly seemed to stand, or rise erect in the water; then he cast the child towards the beach, threw up his hands as if human nature could endure no more, and sank--sank within twenty feet of where the spectators stood. Irvine, the fisherman, cleverly caught hold of the child, which a wave fortunately threw towards him, and the little fellow, senseless, cold and breathless, was borne away in the plump, sturdy arms of his wife, to be stripped, put in a warm bed, and restored, if possible, to heat and animation. Great exertions were meanwhile made, but made in vain, to rescue the body of his father, for it was never doubted that such was his relationship by those who witnessed his severe struggles, his love, and his despair. The storm was passing away; wet, weary, and very much "out of sorts" by their unwonted exertions, the quartermaster and the village dominie, a thickset, sturdy old fellow, clad in rusty black, with a tie perriwig and square buckled shoes, a very wrinkled and somewhat careworn face, arrived at the Castle to make their report to Lady Rohallion, who had anxiously awaited the events of the night.