He bound the ropes and rigging about her, and told her how she could best support herself; then he was silent, but every now and then she heard him moaning as though in pain. How long they floated in this way the mother could not tell; it seemed to her many hours,--it was, in reality, less than four. They saw the lights of the _Empire_ in the distance, but they could not make themselves heard, although they shouted with all their strength. At the first glimmering of dawn they discovered the hurricane deck not far distant, and Hugh said, "shout with all your might. I cannot hold on much longer, my head is on fire!" So the mother exerted all her strength in a piercing scream, and to her joy, an answering cry came back through the rain. Hugh made an effort to steer the spars towards the floating deck, and those on board pushed their raft towards him as well as they could. Still it was slow work, and as the dawn grew brighter, the mother saw her preserver's haggard face, and the blood matted in his curly hair. He did not speak, as, holding the baby in one arm, with the other he tried to guide the broken mast, but his eyes were strangely glazed and the shadow of death was on his brow. They reached the deck at last, and kind hands lifted them on board; it was only a raft, but it seemed a support after the deep, dark water. The mother took her baby, and Hugh sank down at her feet. Some one had a flask of brandy, and they succeeded in pouring a little through his clenched teeth; after a moment or two he revived, sat up, looked about him, and murmured some incoherent words. Then he tried to take out his little note-book, but it was wet, and the pencil was gone; the captain gave him his own, and Hugh had scrawled a few words upon it, spoke to the mother and smiled when she held up the child. But gradually he relapsed into unconsciousness, grew more and more death-like, and, after breathing heavily for an hour, passed away without a struggle. The mother and her child were safe; all the others on the floating deck were rescued,--but Hugh, dear Hugh was dead! Mr. Leslie had preceded the funeral cortege by a few moments; slowly he alighted from the carriage and passed up the garden-walk towards the old stone house. His heart was heavy, and words of comfort came not to his lips; in the presence of so great a sorrow he bowed his head in silence. The friends who were in the house, came out to meet him, but no one spoke; they knew by his face that the worst was true. They did not follow him into the presence of the mourners, but going down to the gate, they waited there. Mr. Leslie entered the sitting-room. "The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away," he said solemnly. "Blessed be the name of the Lord. Hugh, our dear Hugh is dead."