He knew all at last, and there was indeed a joyful meeting between father and son. How they feasted their eyes on each other, and how Philip Guntry's heart sank as he noted the bright hectic flush upon the boy's cheek, the wasted body, and the thin trembling hands! "O father, it's so nice to have you," Phil said when, the first raptures over, he began quietly to realise his happiness. "You won't go to sea again, but you'll stay with us, and nurse me, won't you? Though," he added in an undertone so that Millie might not catch the words, "I don't think I shall be here so very long to want you." Then nothing would do but that he must be wrapped in the warm flannel dressing-gown Miss Crawford had given, and that his father must take him in his arms and nurse him, "just as you used when I was a baby, you know," he said. And Millie, drawing up a low stool, leant her head against her father's knee. Sitting thus, they listened to the story of Philip Guntry's preservation in the midst of awful and many dangers. He told them how, on one fearful night, when the winds were roaring like thunder among the sails, and the waves were dashing mountains high, the "Cynthia" struck upon a rock. There was barely time to get out the boats before the vessel sank. He and seven others were the last to leave the wreck. During many hours of darkness they tossed about in their frail boat, at the mercy of wind and waves. When morning dawned they saw no signs of the rest of the crew, and doubted not they were the only persons saved. For days they drifted along, starvation staring them in the face, and they had begun to despair of their lives, when, to their joy, they sighted land. It proved to be an uninhabited island, where for many months the sailors, lived as best they could. They made some kind of shelter for themselves, fed principally on the eggs of sea-fowl, and kept a constant watch for a passing vessel. A long time elapsed, however, before the welcome sail appeared in sight, and O! How anxiously and eagerly they waited to see whether the thin curl of smoke arising from their fire of dried leaves and wood would be observed, and bring friends to their assistance! And their hope was realised, a boat being sent out from the ship to fetch the poor fellows on board. The vessel was bound for a distant colony, and as soon as it reached its destination, Philip Guntry sought for and obtained a berth in a vessel homeward bound. Owing to various delays the passage had been a tardy one, but he reached England at last, and set out at once for Chormouth. Arrived at Moultonsea, a large town about four miles from Chormouth, he had met with an old comrade, who told him the sorrowful news of his wife's death, and that his children were living with their uncle in London.