Captain Corbet and the mate calmly retired to sleep, leaving the schooner to take care of herself. But there was one who slept not all through that night. Mr. Long could not leave the deck. The air below was stifling to one so full of anxiety and suspense as he was. All night long he paced the deck with unwearied footsteps,--all night long,--stopping at times to sound his trumpet; stopping again to peer through the thick darkness that hung around like a funeral pall over the grave of the departed. There, too, over and over again in the darkness and the gloom of that night, he knelt down on that deck, and poured forth all the anguish of his soul, calling forth out of his despair unto Him who alone is able to save. After each prayer his soul would grow calmer, and the storm of his agitated heart would cease for a time, till, gradually reassuming its strength, his grief would once more return, to be once more dispelled by prayer. So, amid vigil, and fasting, and prayer, and grief, passed, the night away; and when the dawn came, there stood this man looking out over the sea, with a face pale from suffering, and eyes dimmed with unfamiliar tears. The dawn of day brought at least one comfort. The wind had changed during the night, and the fog had gone. The wide sea once more unfolded itself, and as the light grew stronger, Mr. Long eagerly scanned it in all directions in search after the lost ones. At last, rousing Captain Corbet and the mate, he urged them to set sail once more. Captain Corbet came on deck, and looked round in great curiosity to see where he was. He had gone to sleep in beautiful ignorance of his whereabouts, and it had been an interesting problem as he dozed off to sleep. The moment he looked around, he uttered a cry. “Good gracious!” Mr. Long looked inquiringly at him. “Ef I ain’t back at my own door! Don’t you see it, Mr. Long? Why, darn me, ef we haven’t drifted clean back to Grand Pré!” Mr. Long looked in wonder to where Captain Corbet pointed, and there, to his surprise, he recognized the familiar shore. A cloud came over his brow. The thought of the lost ones came to him more vividly as he saw the place which might possibly be doomed to know them no more forever. “Ef it warn’t-dead low tide,” said Captain Corbet, “darn it ef I wouldn’t have a good mind to tie up the old Anty to the nighest stump, and take a run up to see the babby.” Mr. Long turned upon him with so terrible a frown that Captain Corbet was awed. “O--I didn’t mean it. I--I ony made the remark. Of course I didn’t mean it--it’s ony a leetil outbust of parential affection.” “Come, make haste!” said Mr. Long, sternly. “There’s no time to lose. We must scour the bay till we find the boys.” The anchor went up, and up went the sails, and the Antelope once more spread her wings to the blast, and went over the waters. But where could they go? That was the question which it was difficult to answer. Where, or in what direction, east, west, north, or south?