CHAPTER II.

THE day following the storm was a harvest for the people of Sandy Cove. The wreck had entirely broken up, and not a vestige of the ship remained except the fragments that, together with the cargo, strewed the coast for miles on either side the bay.

Paul Grey had been out at daybreak, and when he returned to breakfast he found his wife happier than he had seen her for many days. The table was spread. The newly-arrived baby was snugly asleep in its cradle, looking as blooming as though nothing extraordinary had happened; and as the storm had passed and the day was fine, the sun was shining gayly through the open window.

When breakfast was finished Paul took his telescope and sat upon the terrace-wall above the sea. He had not been long seated before his attention was attracted to some object floating in the water beneath, at no great distance from the shore; as the waves gave it motion sometimes it was completely submerged, while at others a portion appeared upon the surface.

"Polly," he said, "can you make out what that is? Sometimes it looks like a long mass of sea-weed, but it is too white."

Neither could distinguish the object clearly; therefore, descending to the beach, Paul, accompanied by his wife, launched a small skiff and rowed out of the harbor toward the spot. Rounding the point that formed a natural breakwater to the small bay they at once discovered the cause.

Upon nearer approach there could be no doubt that it was the body of some unfortunate who had perished in the wreck of yesterday. A few more strokes brought them close to it.

"It is a woman," said Polly, who was steering the boat. “Look, Paul, your oar will now touch her. Help me to lift her from the water.'

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It was the body of a beautiful woman of about two-andtwenty, which the united exertions of Paul and his wife soon placed on board the boat; her long blonde hair he had mistaken in the distance for sea-weed. Although they knew that she was dead, they arranged her in a reclining position, with her back resting against the seat of the boat. "Poor creature! she is a lady," said Polly; "and so beautiful!"

She had no other clothes than a night-dress; several valuable rings of diamonds and rubies were on her fingers, in addition to her wedding-ring, and a necklace of large brilliants was hung round her neck. Some of her long hair was twisted among her delicate fingers; the button of the collar of her night-gown had burst, and her beautiful snowwhite bosom was exposed.

"She had a baby," sighed Polly; "poor woman, how sad! Who knows whether she is the mother of the child we have saved ?"

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Very likely," said Paul; "for the hair that we found upon the rope handle attached to the barrels is exactly the same as that now twisted in her fingers. See! the inside of her soft hands is chafed with holding on to the hard rope. Her long hair must have become entangled while struggling in the water, and she has had no strength to keep her hold.”

The expression of this beautiful but unfortunate mother was one of calm serenity; and as Polly Grey straightened

her gracefully-formed limbs, and covered her breast with her long flaxen hair, she kissed her pale cheek, and vowed inwardly never to forsake her orphan child. She then took off her cloak, and spread it gently over the body.

"Take off the rings, Polly, before we get to the Cove," said Paul. "We must take care of them, as some day they

may be wanted if the child should live. It wouldn't do to let the people at the Cove see the gold and stones." Accordingly Polly, not without some difficulty, drew the rings from her taper fingers, and unfastened the snap of the necklace.

It was well that this had been done, for on their arrival at the Cove they found a great influx of people; the news of the wreck had spread rapidly throughout the neighborhood, and people from all quarters had flocked to the spot. Among others was the good clergyman of the neighboring village, Dr. Jones, who with his excellent wife had driven down to the Cove with a good supply of warm clothing and restoratives in case they should be required by the survivors from the shipwreck. Alas! there were none; the little child was the only soul living of all those who but a few hours before were happy in their near approach to their native land and homes after a long and tedious voyage from China.

"What have we here ?" cried Dr. Jones, as Paul approached the shore. "Ah's me! ah's me! here's a disaster," exclaimed the good man. "No hope, Mr. Grey; no hope, I'm afraid? No, no hope," he mournfully and slowly repeated, as he looked at the figure covered with Polly's cloak. The boat struck the beach, and Polly uncovered the face of the drowned mother. "Ah's me! ah's me! Poor thing! so young, so lovely! And did you say a mother ?" asked Dr. Jones, in a tone of despair. In a few minutes Paul had explained the incident and his suspicions, which touching

story at once enlisted the sympathy of the good doctor; but Paul said nothing about the trinkets, and merely stated that his wife had determined to nurse and to adopt the child.

A few days after this event a simple funeral entered the church-yard of Stoke; the coffin was carried by some of the fishermen of Sandy Cove, foremost of whom was the powerful figure of Paul Grey. Many women and children followed as mourners one whom they had never known, but whose fate had engaged their sympathies; and Polly Grey carried the infant smiling unconsciously in her arms as it followed its dead mother to the grave. The good Dr. Jones not only paid the expenses of the funeral, but some weeks afterward he erected a stone in the form of a cross upon the spot, with this short inscription: "A lady unknown, aged about twenty-two. Cast up by the sea at Sandy Cove, 21st August, 1791."

Paul and his wife had returned to their cottage after the funeral, when a sudden thought struck him. "What was in the box with the child? Was there nothing except the Indian shawl and the wrapper ?" he asked Polly.

"Only some thick cotton wool at the bottom for the child to lie upon," said Polly, "which I did not remove; but if you like I will fetch the box and empty it.”

In a few minutes she brought the box. "There is nothing here, you see, except the wool that makes a kind of bed at the bottom." As she spoke she quickly emptied the contents in double handfuls. "What is this ?" she exclaimed, as something heavy in a canvas bag suddenly arrested her hand. Paul lifted it up from a mass of cotton wool in which it was securely packed.

"It is gold!" said Paul. Marked in ink upon the bag was "200 guineas."

"Oh Paul," said Polly, "this is dreadful! We have no right to this money, and its possession will bring some

trouble; what can we do? Is there no paper in the box— no writing to give some clew to the name of the owner ?”

"Nothing," answered Paul, "nothing, except this bag of two hundred guineas, which no doubt the poor lady packed with the child. We must stow it away with the trinkets in some safe place, until perhaps some day we may learn something more about it. It's lucky that we found it, and still more lucky that we didn't unpack the box in the crowd at the Cove: there would have been a pretty scramble for the gold."

At this moment a knock at the door disturbed the conversation. Paul quickly concealed the bag of gold in the wool within the box from which he had taken it, while Polly, blushing deeply at the act of caution, hesitated until the knock was repeated before she gave a reply. The door opened, Dr. Jones entered.

"Good-morning, Mrs. Grey. I feared you were not at home, which would have disappointed me much, as I wished to have some conversation with you about your new charge. How is the poor little castaway?"

"Doing very nicely, sir," replied Polly, "thank you. It is a lovely child, and as strong and healthy as could be wished. It does not miss its mother, and there is no fear that it will not thrive."

"It is a strange thing," said Dr. Jones, "that we can find no clew to the name beyond the letters K. N.' upon the night-dress. Was there no paper inclosed in any portion of the clothes or wrappers that were contained in the case that held the child ?”

It

Polly could not help a slight confusion in manner. was true that no paper had been found: but her natural honesty felt repugnant to the idea of concealment, and she would gladly have intrusted the good Dr. Jones with the secret, had not a warning glance from her husband suggest