On sped the little craft, held firmly to her work until she ran in under the shelter of a lofty overhanging cliff.
The sail was quickly lowered, the painter made fast, and springing ashore, his arms full of the purchases he had made, Mark Merrill hastened to climb a steep path leading to the cliff above.
Here stood a large stone mansion, dark and gloomy, except in one end, where there was a light, the one which had flashed over the waters as a beacon to guide the brave boy to a haven of safety.
Entering the wing the lad passed into a large room where a woman lay upon a large old-fashioned bed.
Her face was a sad one, and her eyes were sunk with suffering, but she smiled as she beheld her son, who advanced and, bending over, kissed her forehead.
“The doctor will be down to-night, mother, for he knows the way well, having attended the Vanloo family when they lived here.”
“Heaven bless you, my noble boy; but what a rough night it is, and my anxiety for you has made me feel better, for I forgot myself.”
“Oh! you’ll soon come round all right, mother,” was the hopeful reply.
“But Mark, how can you pay the doctor, for my illness has kept you from making any money of late.”
“I sold my little model, mother, for I was tired of it, you know.”