Laurier looked back at Leon Dalrymple as we may call him now, and the look on his face, the pain, the sorrow, was one never to be forgotten. He cried out, though Laurier could not catch the words: “My God, what have I done? I have sent her from me, penniless, with the belt of jewels, all our worldly wealth, secured around my waist! I must follow and cling to the boat until I can remove it and leave it with her, my darling; then no matter what becomes of me!” The next instant he sprang over the deck rail into the sea, and, guided by the light of lurid flames, swam after the vanishing lifeboat. “Poor fellow, I was about to propose to share with him the spar I see floating yonder, but he is doubtless crazed with excitement! I will follow and try to help him, for he cannot swim long in such a sea without support!” thought Laurier, springing into the sea and clutching the spar. At that moment the first gray light of dawn shone over the sea, hailed with joy by scores of voices, and the raft was quickly launched, the rest of the passengers escaping gladly from the burning ship that was scattering them with firebrands and cinders. But the raft so hastily constructed and overcrowded, began to give way, threatening instant destruction to those who had trusted to its frail support. At that moment an empty lifeboat was observed floating near them, and they comprehended at once that the first lifeboat, overcrowded with selfish men, had somehow overturned and cast them all into the sea. They had no time to bemoan this new horror, they were too glad of this chance to save the imperiled women and children. CHAPTER XXVIII. WAS A MIRACLE WROUGHT? The sea was unusually calm and smooth that morning. A skillful swimmer could make good headway against the tide. Laurier was an athlete, and swimming lightly and strongly after the vanishing lifeboat, he looked about anxiously for Lyndon, hoping to assist him. To his surprise and dismay not a sign was to be seen of the fair head of the man in whom he took an almost painful interest for the sake of his daughter. His straining gaze wandered here and there over the illuminated waters, but the glare of the burning ship pained his eyes, and nothing could be seen but floating débris, swirling black cinders, and the lifeboats vanishing in the gloom of the cold, gray dawn. His heart sank with pain and sympathy thinking of the life gone down to the depths so suddenly, and the fair daughter left fatherless. “Alone among those selfish wretches who received her so reluctantly that I feared to trust her to their care! What will become of her, poor girl?” he thought, and obeying a blind impulse he could not resist, swam after the boat that he now observed had slackened its speed as though too heavy freighted, being sunk to the water’s edge.