“Oh, I might know that you’d side with him,” said Frank, petulantly. “But that don’t change my opinion a bit, Miss Lizzie.”
“Frank! Frank! I really thought you were more gallant!” said his father, laughing at the evident discomfiture of his son.
“I might as well give it up since you’re all against me,” said Frank, in a sulk.
“Oh, I’m not against you, Cousin Frank,” cried Little Jessie, running up to him, “for I was the biggest coward in the world to let that vile wretch, Miss Scrimp, beat me, as she often did, when I might have turned on her and scratched her very eyes out.”
Frank laughed now. He had one on his side, any way, and that put him in good humor again.
All this time Mrs. Emory had been sitting sad and silent, listening to the storm which raged without. For well built though the house was, the fury of the gale dashing against the heavy plate-glass of the windows gave a sign of what it must be out on the unsheltered sea.
“Heaven be merciful!” she said, solemnly. “Heaven be merciful to those who are exposed on this fearful night on the raging deep. God help those who now are battling with the storm.”
“Amen,” broke from every lip. Even Frank looked sad, and he was silent now.
CHAPTER XXXV.
BATTLING WITH THE STORM.
“Battling with the storm.” That was the very word. For while those loving friends sent up a prayer to Heaven for her safety, Hattie Butler, unable to remain in her state-room, not afraid, for she was truly brave, but anxious, had thrown a water-proof mantle, which her satchel contained, over her head and shoulders, and gone out on the deck near the pilot house, where, holding on to one of the great iron stays, she looked out on the wildly heaving waters, listened to the howl of the mad gale, and waited, with faith and hope, for the end, whatever it might be.