Lieutenant A. H. Ernescliffe.
Mr. Charles Owen, Mate.
Mr. Harry May, Midshipman.
The Alcestis had taken fire on the 12th of April of the former year. There had been much admirable conduct, and the intrepid coolness of Mr. Ernescliffe was especially recorded. The boats had been put off without loss, but they were scantily provisioned, and the nearest land was far distant. For five days the boats kept together, then followed a night of storms, and, when morning dawned, the second cutter, under command of Mr. Ernescliffe, had disappeared. There could be no doubt that she had sunk, and the captain could only record his regrets for the loss the service had experienced in the three brave young officers and their gallant seamen. After infinite toil and suffering, the captain, with the other boats’ crews, had reached Tahiti, whence they had made their way home.
“Oh, Margaret, Margaret!” cried Ethel.
Margaret raised herself, and the colour came into her face.
“I did not write the letter!” she said.
“What letter?” said Ethel, alarmed.
“Richard prevented me. The letter that would have parted us. Now all is well.”
“All is well, I know, if we could but feel it.”
“He never had the pain. It is unbroken!” continued Margaret, her eyes brightening, but her breath, in long-drawn gasps that terrified Ethel into calling Dr. Spencer.
Mary was standing before him, with bloodless face and dilated eyes; but, as Ethel approached, she turned and rushed upstairs.