And, as she said to Geraldine on the last evening as they bade good-night, "This has been the very happiest time I ever spent here- yes, happier than in those exultant days of new possession and liberty. Oh, yes, all experiments, as it were, bold ventures, self-reproach and failure, defiance and fun, and then-oh, the ache I would not confess, the glory of being provoking, and, oh, the final anguish I brought on myself and on you all; and I went on, when it began to wear away, still stifling the sting which revived whenever I came home, and all was renewed! Really, whenever I shammed it was only remorse. I don't think that real repentance, and the peace after it, began till those quiet days with dear Mother Constance."
"And is it peace now?"
"Yes, I think so. Even the parting with my child has not torn me up. I can say it is well-far better than leaving her, far better, indeed! And Felix is what he meant to be, my treasure, not my accuser. Oh, I am glad to have been at home, and made it all up, to bear away-and leave with you the sense of Peace."
All who had loved and feared for her were very happy over her when all joined in that farewell service on her own birthday, St. Michael and All Angels' Day.
The party were joined by Dolores and Wilfred at Liverpool; Bernard having undertaken to establish the latter at Colombo in hands as safe as might be.
CHAPTER XXX-THE MAIDEN ROCKS
"What need we more if hearts be true,
Our voyage safe, our port in view."
- KEBLE.
A telegram that a steamer had been wrecked on the Maiden Rocks filled three homes with dismay. The rocks were sought out in maps, and found to be specks lying between County Antrim and Scotland-no doubt terrible in their reality.
Another day brought something more definite. It was the Afra,-"wrecked in the fog of October 11th. Boats got off."
That was all; but a day's post brought letters, of which the fullest was from Dolores:
"CORNCASTLE, LARNE, CO. ANTRIM, IRELAND,
October 12.
"DEAREST AUNT LILY,-
"I trust Phyllis has by this time heard from Bernard, as I heard him called on, as a good oarsman, to go in the first boat, and we saw Angela's bonnet. We-that is Wilfred, Nag, and the Bishop-are all safe here, with eight or nine others. Will will do well, I trust. He quite owes his life to Nag. This is how it was: We had not long been out of the Mersey before an impenetrable fog came down upon us, and we could not see across the deck; but on we went, on what proved to be our blind way, till, after a night and day, just as we were getting up from dinner, there came a hideous shock and concussion, throwing us all about the room; and in less than a minute it was repeated, with horrible crackings, tearings, yells and shouts. No one needed to tell us what it meant, and down came the call, 'Don't wait to save your things, only wraps, ladies! Up on deck! Life-belts if you can!' I remember Bernard standing at the top of the ladder, helping us up, and somehow, I understand from him, that we were on a reef, and might either remain there, and sink, or be washed off. The fog was clearing, and there was a dim light up high, somewhere, one of the lighthouses, I believe. I don't quite know how it all went; I think we kept in the background, round the Bishop, and that a boat full of emigrant women was put off. I know there were only about half a dozen women left, who had been crying and refusing to leave their husbands; and about thirty altogether, men and women, were somehow got into our boat with the chief mate; the Bishop all consolation and prayer; poor Wilfred limp, cold and trembling, for he had been very seasick till the last moment, when Bernard pulled him out of his berth, and put him into a lifebelt. The sea was not very rough, with an east wind; but the mate said the current was so strong he could make no way against it. It would bring us on to the Irish cliffs, and then, God help us! Knowing what that coast is, I thought there was no hope; and as it was beginning to grow light there rose an awful wall, all black and white, ready to close upon us; but just as I set my teeth and tried to recollect prayers, or follow the Bishop's, but I could only squeeze Agatha harder and harder, there was a fresh shouting among the men, and the boat was heaved up in a fearful way, then down. It was tide, and we were near upon breakers; but there were answering shouts, or so they said-I believe a line was thrown, and a light shown. But as the boat rose again, Nag and I expected to be hurled on the rocks the next moment, and clung together. But instead-though the waves had almost torn us asunder- we were lying on a stony beach, and human hands were dragging at us- voices calling and shouting about our not being dead. God had helped us! We had been carried into a clift where there is a coastguard station; and the good men had come down and were helping us on shore. But before I well knew anything, Agatha was on her feet; I heard her cry 'Wilfred, Wilfred!' and then I saw her dragging him, quite like a dead thing, out of the surf, just in time before another great wave rushed in which would have washed them both back, if a man had not grappled her at the very moment, calling out, 'Let go, let go, he's a dead man!' She did not let go; when the wave broke, happily, just short of them, and another came to help, and saved them from being sucked back. Then the Bishop came and assured us that he was alive, and got the men to carry him up to the coastguard cottages; indeed, it was an awful escape; for of our boatload most were lost altogether, three lie dead, dashed against the rock, and two more, the mate one of them, have broken limbs. Wilfred was unconscious for a long time, at least an hour; but by the help of spoonfuls of whiskey he came round to a dreamy kind of state, and he does not seem to suffer much; and the Bishop, the Preventive man and Nag all are sure no limbs are broken, but he seems incapable of movement except his hands. It may be only jar upon the spine, and go off in another day or two; but we do not dare to send for a doctor, or anything else, indeed, till we have some money; for we all of us have lost everything except five shillings in my pocket and two in Nag's. Even our wraps were washed off-I believe Agatha gave hers to a shivering woman in the boat. The Bishop, too, gave away his coat, forgetting to secure his purse. But the people are very kind to us-North, or Scotch Irish Presbyterians, I think-for they don't seem to know what to make of his being a Bishop when they found he was not R.C., though they call him His Reverence. Please send us an order to get cashed, at Larne, six miles off, where this is posted. Wilfred lies on the good Preventive woman's bed, clean and fairly comfortable, and they have made a shake-down in their parlour for Nag and me. The Bishop
says he is well off, but I believe he is always looking after the mate and the other man in the other house, and sleeps, if at all, in a chair. Nag is the nurse. She had ambulance lessons, you know, when at the High School, and profited by them more than I ever did, and Wilfred likes to have her about him, and when he is dazed, as he always is at first waking, he calls her Vera. But don't be uneasy about him, dear Aunt Lily. Deadly sea-sickness, a night of tossing and cold, and then this terrible landing may well upset him, and probably he will be on his legs by the time you get this letter.