The minute gun wailed no more across the waters. The voice was silenced for ever!
“Oh, my God! my God! she is gone down! she is gone down!” screamed Miss Joe, wrought up to an agony of terror and grief beyond all self-control.
The dread silence that followed was more insufferable than the terrific storm in its utmost fury had been—than the awful voice of the minute gun, in its vain appeal, had been! It was long after midnight now. Miss Joe, unable longer to bear the awful pause of fate, went and pulled open the door and looked out.
The wind had lulled, the rain had ceased, the waves had gone down, the storm was nearly over. Yet in the deep darkness she could only guess the wild ruin that had been wrought around. The sky hung over the waters black as a pall, yet by the phosphoric light of the sea that still moved and sparkled she discovered a dark object, like the hulk of a huge vessel, disappear under the waves.
And, hush! What sound is that, low and distinct, in the deep silence of the awful night? The sound of approaching footsteps and voices hurrying on, and now very near.
“Light another candle, for God’s sake! some people are coming. God send it may be Hugh and his men! Light another candle, quick! and thrust it into a lantern!” exclaimed Miss Joe, hastening into the house.
And before the light of the other candle blazed, the room was filled with sailors, storm-beaten, dripping wet, two of the foremost of whom bore the body of a fainting woman in their arms.
It was Agnes.
“Where is Hugh—where is your captain? My God! where is Hugh?” exclaimed Miss Joe, as her eyes roamed over this wild party in the vain quest of her nephew.
“We left the captain on the deck of his vessel. He refused to leave it while a man remained on board. We are going back for him, and half a dozen others,” said the mate, looking about in haste for a place to lay Agnes; then, putting her in the arms of old Dodgy, he turned, with three others of the men, and left the house for the beach.