Both Mrs Wyllys and Gertrude stood regarding his kindling eye, but otherwise placid countenance, with looks whose concern amounted to horror. The former read, in the very composure of his mien, the unalterable character of his resolution; and the latter shuddering as the prospect of the cruel fate which awaited him crowded on her mind, felt a glow about her own youthful heart that almost tempted her to believe his self-devotion commendable. But the governess saw new reasons for apprehension in the determination of Wilder. If she had hitherto felt reluctance to trust herself and her ward with a band such as that which now possessed the sole authority, it was more than doubly increased by the rude and noisy summons she received to hasten and take her place among them. “Would to Heaven I knew in what manner to choose!” she exclaimed. “Speak to us, young man, as you would counsel mother and sister.” “Were I so fortunate as to possess relatives so near and dear,” returned the other, with emphasis “nothing should separate us at a time like this.” “Is there hope for those who remain on the wreck?” “But little.” “And in the boat?” It was near a minute before Wilder made any answer. He again turned his look around the bright and broad horizon, and he appeared to study the heavens, in the direction of the distant Continent, with infinite care. No omen that could indicate the probable character of the weather escaped his vigilance while his countenance reflected all the various emotions by which he was governed, as he gazed. “As I am a man, Madam,” he answered with fervour “and one who is bound not only to counsel but to protect your sex, I distrust the time. I think the chance of being seen by some passing sail equal to the probability that those who adventure in the pinnace will ever reach the land.” “Then let us remain,” said Gertrude, the blood, for the first time since her re-appearance on deck, rushing into her colourless cheeks, until they appeared charged to fulness. “I like not the wretches who would be our companions in that boat.” “Away, away!” impatiently shouted Nighthead “Each minute of light is a week of life to us all, and every moment of calm, a year. Away, away, or we leave you!” Mrs Wyllys answered not, but she stood the image of doubt and painful indecision. Then the plash of oars was heard in the water, and at the next moment the pinnace was seen gliding over the element, impelled by the strong arms of six powerful rowers. “Stay!” shrieked the governess, no longer undetermined; “receive my child, though you abandon me!”