Both Mrs Wyllys and Gertrude bowed their faces to their knees, when assured of the truth of their hopes, and poured out their gratitude in silent and secret thanksgivings. The joy of Cassandra was more clamorous, and less restrained. The simple negress laughed, shed tears, and exulted in the most touching manner, on the prospect that was now offered for the escape of her young mistress and herself from a death that the recent sight had set before her imagination in the most frightful form. But no answering look of congratulation was to be traced in the contracting and anxious eye of their companion. “Now,” said Mrs Wyllys, seizing his hand in both her own, “may we hope to be delivered; and then shall we be allowed, brave and excellent young man, some opportunity of proving to you how highly we esteem your services.” Wilder permitted the burst of her feelings with a species of bewildered care, but he neither spoke, nor in any other manner exhibited the smallest sympathy in her joy. “Surely you are not grieved, Mr Wilder,” added the wondering Gertrude, “that the prospect of escape from these awful waves is at length so mercifully held forth to us!” “I would gladly die to shelter you from harm,” returned the young sailor; “but”— “This is not a time for any thing but gratitude and rejoicing,” interrupted the governess; “I cannot hearken to any cold exceptions now; what mean you with that ‘but?’” “It may be not so easy as you think to reach yon ship—the gale may prevent—in short, many is the vessel that is seen at sea which cannot be spoken.” “Happily, such is not our cruel fortune. I understand considerate and generous youth, your wish to dampen hopes that may possibly be yet thwarted, but I have too long, and too often, trusted this dangerous element, not to know that he who has the wind can speak, or not, as he pleases.” “You are right in saying we are to windward Madam; and, were I in a ship, nothing would be easier than to run within hail of the stranger.—That ship is certainly lying-to, and yet the gale is not fresh enough to bring so stout a vessel to so short canvas.” “They see us, then, and await our arrival.” “No, no: Thank God, we are not yet seen! This little rag of ours is blended with the spray. They take it for a gull, or a comb of the sea, for the moment it is in view.” “And do you thank Heaven for this!” exclaimed Gertrude, regarding the anxious Wilder with a wonder that her more cautious governess had the power to restrain. “Did I thank Heaven for not being seen! I may have mistaken the object of my thanks: It is an armed ship!” “Perhaps a cruiser of the King’s! We are the more likely to meet with a welcome reception! Delay not to hoist some signal, lest they increase their sail, and leave us.” “You forget that the enemy is often found upon our coast. This might prove a Frenchman!” “I have no fears of a generous enemy. Even a pirate would give shelter, and welcome, to females in such distress.”