The fears of both ladies had, on the evening before, been allayed as much as possible. The peculiarly hazardous situation of the vessel was of course not explained to them.

Now, therefore, though they heard the raving of the tempest, and could not avoid being alarmed, they were by no means aware of the full extent of the danger; and even fancied, (as in such cases women and children always do,) that so near land they must be comparatively safe.

Lady Oswald was in the inner cabin; Julia in the outer one; when, to her utter astonishment, Fitz-Ullin entered, and with a countenance of the deepest seriousness, without hesitation or apology, approached and clasped her to his breast. He looked at her mournfully; he kissed her forehead. “Julia,” he said, “when I have done what I can for the ship, I will return to you.” He again pressed his lips on her fair brow; but now it was with a wild fervour, differing widely from the tender solemnity which had at first characterized his manner.

Lady Oswald entered. He had just time to release the passive Julia, the excess of whose surprise had so entirely suspended every faculty, that she had not even blushed. She did so now, to an excess that was overwhelming.

He grasped his aunt’s hand hastily as he hurried past her and disappeared. At the same moment, Arthur running in and throwing himself into his mother’s arms, told her, that they must all be lost.