As the shipwrecked young lady lay on the cold, rough beach, amid the dead bodies, with the hoarse roar of the ocean sounding in her ears, and the heavy, wet clouds of mist clinging about her, indifferent to life or death, the recollection of the ship being pursued by buccaneers and driven far out of her course came back to her mind, and then being caught in a hurricane and seeing another vessel battling with the tempest, and both ships furiously hurried on toward a wild, rocky coast, the vessels crashing on shore and rebounding again, and some one lifting her into a boat, and then she remembered no more. While these recollections were passing through her brain, she raised herself upon her elbow and looked around. Death everywhere, the ocean with its floating corpses and wreckage lay before her. On either hand a long broken beach, with its gloomy rocks and its scattered dead. A scene which at any other time in her life would have struck her with awe, she now gazed at quietly, and questioned "Why am I the only one left, oh, if I too could die." Turning to look behind her through the mist, she observed that the land was hilly, and in some places rose to a considerable height. The whole surface as far as she could make out was covered by a thick growth of lofty pines, mingled with spruce and other sorts of fir, among which sprung up an entanglement of various kinds of undergrowth, all these trees and shrubs growing nearly down to the sea and forming so thick a forest, that it was impossible for sight to penetrate it further than a few yards. There was no building of any kind to be seen, no sign of human habitation of either savage or civilized life. The great abundance of pine trees, and the general appearance of the forest, which strongly resembled the forests of Norway, instantly called up the question in Anna Vyvyan's mind, can it be possible that destiny has sent me back to the land of my mother's grave?

A low wail like the cry of a young child in distress, caused the only hearer to start to her feet, and looking on the other side of a broken rock close by, she saw stretched out white and still, a young lady by the side of whom, in a half-standing position, and bending over her was a beautiful golden-haired little girl of between two and three years. In another instant Anna was also bending over the young mother, to whom she found the child was tied by a crimson silk sash such as were worn by military officers. The tearful little one turned up her sweet face, without any apparent fear, but with a great deal of sorrow in it, and said, in her baby language,

"Mama dorn seep," then she pressed her lips upon the cold white cheek, and kissed it and stroked and patted the also beautiful mother, who lay so mute and pallid and unconscious of all her little one's gentle love.

Again and again came the cry from the poor forlorn little creature, "Det up, mama, det up, mama;" but the dear mamma was beyond the reach of the sweet baby voice. Anna's first thought was to see if any sign of life remained in the slender form before her, but she could find no pulse, and the face and hands were as cold, as the rocks upon which she was lying. Miss Vyvyan unfastened the child, and drew away the long sash, which had tied her to her mother's waist. As she did so, she observed the delicately formed features, which were so regular and proportionate that they might have been chiseled in marble, to represent some Greek goddess. She saw the masses of soft brown hair, and the long dark eyelashes, which dropped upon the cheek like silken fringe. She observed, too, the simple traveling habit, made of the finest material, but perfectly free from any attempt at vulgar ornament. And as she took the child into her arms, and looked down once more on the sweet white face, which lay on the stones at her feet, and noted the refinement in everything about her, she knew that the little one's mother came of gentle blood. The child was willing to go to Anna, but not willing to be removed out of sight of its mother. So Miss Vyvyan sat down where they were with the little one in her lap, and shook out the silk sash with the idea of wrapping it round the shivering child, but that, too, was wet, every thing in the shape of clothing was wet, both on Anna and the child. All that she could do for the moment to comfort the tiny thing, was to fold it in her arms, and try by that means to keep it from perishing with cold. It had probably been shielded by some heavy woolen wrap, which was torn off by the breakers when they were cast on shore, for as Anna shook out the silk sash, there fell from it a strip of thick woolen fringe, which had the appearance of having belonged to a shawl.

But now the child was bareheaded, and wore a little white dress of exceedingly fine embroidery, which also spoke of the mother's love, for none but loving hands ever wrought work so dainty as that. Round its neck was clasped a small gold chain of minute links of very fine workmanship. So thin and delicately was it made, that it resembled a thread of golden silk. Anna examined it carefully to see if she could find any letter or name upon it, but none was there, then she spoke to the child as it lay nestling its pretty head upon her arm, and still talking to its mother, and said,

"Tell me, dear little one, what is your name?"

The child looked up, but evidently could not understand the meaning of her words.

Anna tried again by laying one of her fingers on the child's shoulder and saying, "Who's dat?"

"Mama's baby," answered the little one in an instant.

"Will Mama's baby tell me where papa is?"

"Dorn seep," replied the child.

"Tell me where dorn seep, sweet child."

"Down dare," answered she, pointing to a mass of human bodies which were thrown together on the beach some distance below them, and which were constantly kept in motion by the incoming tide.

Anna's desire to die no longer existed; as she held the beautiful little creature to her heart and rocked it, all her thoughts concentrated in the one question, what could she do to aid this sweet helpless one. The ideas rushed through her mind with the rapidity that they come to us in fever. It must have warmth and food, or it will perish. I cannot let it die, it is so beautiful, and I love it. I must act this moment. Rising with the child in her arms, she hastened along as rapidly as she could among the wreckage, scrambling between bales and chests of all kinds, in the hope of finding something, anything; she could not surmise what it might be, but some sustenance must be had for the child. Although hundreds of cases and bales were strewed about, they were all so securely corded and nailed up, that it was impossible to procure anything from them.

At last, far in on the land, she came to a large pile of freight, which had struck so violently, that the greater number of the cases and bales, had broken in two, or had burst open. The first object that met her sight, was a broken chest full of table covers of rich cloth, evidently the product of India and Persia, as the silk embroidered borders in oriental needlework showed; happily everything was thrown in so far that it was dry.

Taking one of the table covers, she wrapped it round the child, who in the midst of its discomfort showed its gentle nature by saying,

"Pitty sing, pitty sing," and holding up its sweet face to kiss Anna.

"Yes, mama's baby shall have more pretty things soon," said Miss Vyvyan.

"Dinner," cried the child, "bing dinner, Dinah bing dinner."

"Yes, darling, we must find dinner for mama's baby."

"Dinah bing dinner?" again repeated the poor, hungry little thing, with an expressive look of interrogation.

"Yes, dear, yes;" folding the soft woolen cover still more closely round the child, Anna placed her in a sheltered spot. "Stay there a moment, baby, while I bring dinner."

From the marks on the outside of the boxes it was plain that they had come from some Mediterranean port, and contained fruits and other edibles. With a heavy stone, Anna soon broke open a small box of candied fruit, selecting some, she gave it to the half-starved child. One of the baby hands held her fruit, the other one was instantly stretched out toward the box.

"Mama, tandy, too," she cried.

"Mama is asleep, darling, she does not want candy."

"Oh mama, tandy, too," she repeated, with an earnestness that sent a thrill through Anna's heart.

"Yes; mama's baby shall take some if she wishes to."

The child took a piece of the fruit, "Doe now," she said.

"Go where, baby?"

"Mama," answered the child, struggling among the folds of her wrap, to get on to her feet and pointing in the direction of its mother. A nature so full of love, shall not be pained or thwarted by me, mused Anna, as she carried back the child who had already become precious to her. When they reached the place where the cold white mother was lying, and Anna was in the act of putting the little one on the ground as it desired, an unusually large wave broke so close by, that the spray and foam dashed against, and flowed over the sweet pale face. The child uttered a sharp cry of distress, and disengaging itself from Anna's arms and darting to its mother, threw itself down by her side, and, clasping her neck with its tiny arms, covered with kisses the face that was so dear. The next wave will carry the mother away, Anna thought. I cannot let the child witness such a sight, it would break her loving little heart, and she also felt that she, herself, could not give up to the all-devouring ocean, the object of so much affection in the babe. Placing the little one in safety, she took up the cold, white burden in her arms, and carried it far back from the reach of the sea, putting it down on the moss, at the root of a large pine. As it lay there so lone and sad and beautiful, with the child standing by it, for the little soul had followed with its swiftest steps, Anna bent over it and kissed the face. Poor dear, she murmured in a whisper, as long as I exist, my love and my life shall be devoted to your child. She bent again and kissed the cold lips. Could it be possible that breath came lightly through them? It was,—it was,—deeper and deeper drawn and more regular each time. Merciful God, she lives, and the tears fell fast from eyes that had long been dry with grief. A faint sigh, and the partial parting of the long silken eyelashes, told that life was coming back still more and more. In a few moments she feebly uttered, "My child."

"Your child is safe and with you," replied Anna, lifting the little one closer to its mother's side.

"Dudley," she faltered.

"He has not come yet," said Anna, surmising for whom she was inquiring, and pitying in her inmost soul the widowed heart that must so soon learn to live without him.

When the poor mother opened her eyes, the scene of horror was more than her delicate organization could endure, and a violent, fit of trembling came upon her.

"Tote on," said the anxious, sensitive child.

The suggestion was acted upon, Anna ran to the pile of dry wreckage, and soon returned, with an armful of table covers and a box.

"Tote on mama," cried the child hurriedly, as if it felt there was no time to be lost.

"Yes, darling, a coat for mama," said Anna, improvising a pillow with one, and wrapping several other warm covers about the shivering mother.

"Take this," said she, holding to her lips some cordial which she had poured into a mussel shell, "It is buanaba, a very delicate restorative made in Turkey, pray try to take it, it will keep you from shivering so."

As we have already said, Anna possessed great vital energy, and with her to think was to act. She saw that the delicate, slender young mother and the child must both die, unless she could find some means of getting them warm. There was an abundance of dead wood close by, if she could only start the first spark of fire. Pushing her way a few yards into the forest, she brought out a quantity of dead grass and resinous wood, and continued striking two stones together until at last the spark came, and a good fire soon blazed high, and sent out its glow toward the pine tree beneath which they were lying. Some large stones were soon heated in the hot embers, and rolled to the feet of the mother. Covering was brought and held to the fire, and the lowly bed made so warm that the exhausted mother and her little one fell into a natural and refreshing sleep. In the meantime Anna was everywhere scrambling and climbing among the freight, dragging what she could not carry, searching for anything that might be appropriated as a covering against the cold, and looking after the cases of eatables with a thought for the poor, starving ones under the pine tree. It was late in the afternoon when the sleepers awoke. The mist had in a great measure cleared away, and the sunlight was straggling through the remaining clouds. A good fire was burning, and a tin of water was boiling beside it. A long box cover, supported by stones at each end, formed a table, other box lids made seats, and the table was spread with food that would at least sustain life. Heaped up under another pine tree, was a sufficient supply of both food and covering, to provide for the ladies and child for some time to come. There was no lack of tins of all shapes, so they were made use of to cook in, and for holding food. As soon as the child was thoroughly awake, it sat up in its bed, showing its sweet fair face, and smiling with happiness at finding its mother awake by its side. Taking up a cup of food made from sea moss and sweetened with the candied fruit, Anna attempted to feed the child by means of a shell, but it turned its face away, and said in tones full of distress, "Mama too, Dinah bing dinner." When Anna took hot coffee from the fire and propped up the exhausted mother and induced her to drink it, everything went well with the child. It was perfectly satisfied, and took its own food, and laughed and played with the pebbles and shells that were brought to it.

"I have tried often, very often to speak to you," said the mother, addressing Anna for the first time; "I was conscious, but I could not speak; I was too weak I suppose, and now my voice has come back to me, I have no words, I do not know what I can say to you."

"Will you let me suggest what you shall say," asked Anna? "It is this; say what I can do that would most help you and your lovely child; and now try to rest while I think how you can be sheltered from the night air, for night will be upon us in the course of two hours at furthest."

The fog and mist had now completely disappeared, and given way to the sun, which, however, was nearing the horizon, and the trees cast long shadows on the grass.

While the mother and child had been asleep in the afternoon, Anna had built up a few broken boards and stones between them and the sea, that they might not be pained on their first awaking by seeing the terrible sight which was so near.

"I am better," said the mother. "I feel stronger. I cannot endure to see you doing all. I want to help you. I do not need more rest now. But tell me first, pray tell me the truth, whatever it may be. Is there any one left alive here besides ourselves. Have you seen an officer in a colonel's uniform? My husband was in the service of King James, he wore the royal uniform, when he tied my child to my waist with his sash, and lifted me into a boat. I cannot remember any more. I think I must have been stunned. How long have we been here? I seem to have lost some of the time, but I felt you take away my child, and I heard you speak tenderly to it. Have we been here too long for my husband to be living? Tell me, can it be possible that I may find him?"

Anna could not add to her anguish by repeating what the child had said when questioned about its father, for she believed it had spoken truly when it answered,

"Dorn seep, down dare."

"I do not think we have been here longer than to-day," she replied. "I do not know exactly. It was early in the morning when our ship struck the rocks, but it was broad daylight when I came to my senses on the shore. The tide was coming in, it was very high, and now it must have been going out for nearly four hours, so I think we must have been cast on shore this morning."

"Then my husband may still be alive, I must seek him." With those words, she rose to her feet, but nearly fainted with the effort.

"Your child is sleeping," said Anna. "Let me support you, if you will attempt to walk. Tell me your husband's name, that I may call it aloud; these rocks are very rugged and I can send my voice into places among them, that it would be impossible to go into."

"Colonel Carleton," she replied.

"Lean on me, Mrs. Carleton. Shall we go down this way?"

The tide had carried out the mass of floating bodies to which the child had pointed at noon, but numbers of others still remained in all directions. Tottering and staggering among the dead, Mrs. Carleton continued her search, until she had looked into every ghastly face that lay there.

"Now will you call aloud for me," she said, "for I cannot, my strength is gone."

Anna called, but the only sound that came back was the echo of her own voice from the forest and the heavy rolling of the sea. They returned in silence to the child, who was still asleep. The sun had nearly set, when all at once a rich, bright glow from the west rose behind the forest and flooded every object with golden light. Looking out to sea eastward, they observed only a few miles away many islands, some of them covered with forests down to the water's edge.

"Where can we be," they both ejaculated at the same time. There was no habitation visible on any of them, nor any smoke rising from them.

"These trees remind me of Norway," said Anna. "Do you think we can be in Norway?"

"I am unable to say," replied Mrs. Carleton, "but I am sure we are in a northern clime by the growth both of trees and plants."

The ladies seated themselves by the sleeping child, trying to think what it was best for them to do. There was no time for delay; it would soon be dark, and the little group of three appeared to be the only living human beings in the place, wherever that place might be. While they were talking together, they had turned their backs to the sea and were looking toward the sunset, and watching the varied rays of light which here and there penetrated through the forest on the hill before them.

"I did not hear your name, Mrs. Carleton, on board the ship I sailed in from England," said Anna.

"I did not come from England," she answered. "My parents settled in the colony of Virginia long ago. I was born there, that is my home. My husband as well as myself, had many relatives in England, and we were going to visit them, and intended to have our child baptized there, that its name might be registered among those of its forefathers. Sometime after we sailed, we fell in with buccaneers; but our ship, the Sir Walter Raleigh, was a fast sailor, and we got away from them; yet I was told when the hurricane came on, that they were the cause of our being out of our course, hence our calamity."

"We met the same destiny," said Anna, and then she told in a few words whence she had sailed, and that her name was Vyvyan.

The hill in front of the ladies, rose too high for them to see the actual setting of the sun, but the rich glow of gold and crimson now lit up the whole forest, and defined the outline of the rising ground.

"What is that I see?" said Mrs. Carleton, shading her eyes with her hands.

"'Tall pines' I think," answered Anna.

"No, it is a tower; look, Miss Vyvyan, in that direction, see on the hill; it is a stone tower; look, now the light has changed; there are windows, many of them, see on the right the building extends a great way, it is very large."

Anna looked through the wood where Mrs. Carleton directed, and saw distinctly in the rosy light of the sunset, an immense stone building, with a massive tower capable of containing many rooms, and rising to the height of two hundred feet. With the exception of the tower, the building was very irregular, and gave the impression of having been erected at different periods. It combined the characteristics of a feudal castle and a fortress. It was old and gray, but by no means a ruin, yet it had a gloomy and forbidding appearance. The ladies looked at each other and hesitated, they did not speak for a few moments; the same idea possessed the mind of each. They thought that good people would not live in such a place, amid such wild surroundings, but neither one of them would unnerve the other by saying so, for they knew in their present situation they required all the courage that they could command, in order that they might be ready to meet their uncertain fate.

While they continued looking almost spellbound the child awoke, and observing their earnest gaze, added her own scrutiny to theirs. She bent her little golden head forward and saw some of the windows upon which the reflection of light glinted.

"Home," she exclaimed, smiling with childish glee, "doe home," taking hold of her mother's dress to draw her in the direction of the building, which was about half-way up the hill, and only a few hundred yards from where they now stood.