Suddenly a light came over the waters, and I looked up to find that the moon, at its full, was raising its great yellow disc from the waves. As if in kindly sympathy with me, the light came dancing over the burnished sea, but ceased its gambols at the shore, and threw its wan radiance over the dead face.
With the light I grew bolder, and rose and stood by the corpse, to see if it had moved. But it was lying as we had placed it, without a quiver in the face; and again I sat down upon the sand. Looking over the sound I saw Mr. Cheyleigh’s boat coming, and the rapid flash of the dripping oars told that it was speeding well. Inexpressibly relieved, I went down to the landing and stood there, as unconcerned as if I had been pleasantly entertained on the beach. The rigging rattled as the sails came down, the keel grated on the sand, and Mr. Cheyleigh, Ned and Frank, and four stout negroes got out and went to the body. They wrapped it in blankets, laid it in the bottom of the boat, and with a stiff breeze and strong oars we soon glided under the shadow of Mr. Cheyleigh’s boat house. Ned, Frank and I sprang out and ran ahead to see about the little girl.
Mrs. Cheyleigh was up in her chamber with her, and we could see only two or three excited negroes, who could tell nothing. We soon heard the negro men coming up the steps with their loaded, faltering tread, and we followed them into the back parlor, where, under Mr. Cheyleigh’s direction, they deposited their burden, smoothed the blankets over him, and marched out, picking up their hats from the corners of the doors, where they had thrown them as they came into the “gretouse.”
Mr. Cheyleigh then went up stairs to aid Mrs. Cheyleigh while we turned into the dining room, where they were just bringing in supper.
“I wonder what will be done with her if Mrs. Cheyleigh succeeds in bringing her to?” said Frank, as we took our seats near the open window.
This was something we had not thought of, and we were somewhat startled by the query; as we considered her ours by right of discovery, and her disposal, consequently, a matter of importance to each of us.
“I suppose,” continued Frank, “she’ll have to go to the Orphan Asylum.”
I repudiated the idea with indignation.
“Never!” I said warmly; “if her friends do not come forward and claim her, I will get father to adopt her, as he has no other children beside me.”
“Oh! perhaps you will,” said Frank, with something of a sneer in his tone; “any way I claim an interest in her, and will have her for my sweetheart.”