“Gerald?”
“Philip?”
“Is your head better where you struck it? Come closer to me.” He drew the dripping boy to him. “I want to feel sure that it’s you. We are safe. Don’t tremble so.”
“Yes, we are safe—but O, Philip, where are—the rest?” His head fell back against Philip in complete exhaustion. “Hark! hark!” he added, faintly, “don’t you hear the bell?—the bell on the rock—that is like the one—on the church? It sounds as if—as if we were—going home.”
Philip could scarcely catch the last words. Gerald’s hand grew cold within his own. The boy had swooned. With Touchtone bending over him in attempts to recover him the boat still swept along in the mist. They were left indeed to themselves, and to god.
[CHAPTER X.]
FROM AN OLD SCRAP-BOOK.
In The New York Tribune of September —, 188–, appeared an article of interest to the readers of this narration. And here is a portion of it:
“... All facts as to the loss of the steamer Old Province, the absorbing subject of public attention since last week, seem gathered now from the various sources available. Captain Widgins, Mr. A. Y. Arrowsmith, the mate, and several others of the crew and of the boatload last to leave the ill-fated vessel and make Knoxport Cove, have been repeatedly interviewed without developing any facts not already made known. The steamer lies in a considerable depth of water. The question of raising her is under consideration. Cargo and baggage are almost a total loss.