Orleans independent standard. [volume] (Irasburgh, Vt.) 1856-1871, 1870-05-24

less condition OF his clothing, and the
beauty and irresistible charms Of his
daughter Fanny. He saw no use
whatever in sitting up burning candle
just because a ship had been so stu
pid as to get on the rocks, and he told
his daughter she would do wisely if
she went to bed too.
Fanny gave him a careless answer:
but when he had fairly gone up stairs,
she placed herself at the window and
looked out, in hopes Of hearing news
from some passer-by.
The girls heart was very heavy to-
night. She had joked, and laughed,
and tried to bear herself bravely; but
the pent-up sorrow grew in its strug-
giles to find vent; in the deep lone
stiffness it made her heart heavy as
lead.
The night was very dark. Fanny
put her head out of the lattice as she
heard a far-off sound, and the wind
swirliDg round the house in a wild gust
blew her hair into her eyes. The
sound came nearer, heavy and lumber
ing, not like a mere footStep.
"Who is there? ?" she calls, as it
comes nearer; there is a strong sud
den horror in her, though she could
not have found a name for it.
It's me-Davie. | be in a bar
row from the rocks down yonder." "
He's fallen off and smashed his
ankle" says a deep voice which Fanny
recognizes as that Of the second in
command Of the coastguard station !;
al had to come back, so I've brought
him along"
is the ship safe ?" says Fanny.
"Well, yes" (tbe man speaks sulk-
ily;) "she cried out before she was
hurt. There's some Of the boats stove
in that came ont after the life boat"
Fanny's heart gave a sudden bound.
Is any one hurt besides Dayie ?"
she says in faint, scared voice.
Well, yes; and l must 90 on, Miss,
now. I'm come in to fetch the doctor
out to Joe Porter and another poor
| fellow"
Is John Fry down helping with
you?" she says.
Davie strikes in; the gasping tone
of Fanny's words had reused him.
I'm not easy in my mind, - he says.
John Fry left me all in a hurry to
go off to the rocks and there's no one
seen or heard on him since Johns not
the lad to stan by wi his hands in his
pockets while folks is wanting help.
Before his words are spoken Fanny
is out Of the cottage door. She can
see the two figures in the vague indis-
tinct light-a light that seems fraught
in itself with doubt and fear. With
all her haste, that strange mechanical
quality we call habit makes Fanny
take down a shawl which hangs in the
passage, and wrap it around her head
and shoulders as she runs into the
road. She puts out her hand till il
touches the coast guards arm.
Mr.. Evans, tell any one you see tC
send help to the foot OF the cliffs; and
tell Lieut.. Roberts I'm gone there tC
look for John Fry"
Gone alone-God h c Up her r.
But as he speaks there is nothing but
the vague indistinct glimmer round
Evans and his charge. Fanny has
sped far on out Of sight, down the
steep fern banked lane, lighter than i
had been in the upper village, for tht
sea is before her.
She guesses that the fishermen are
not gone to bed, and she knocks loud
ly at the first door she comes to.
An old man opens it, very old anC
feeble, with face honeycombed viii
wrinkles. He has a lantern in hi.
hand, and holds it up to examine hi
visitor.
LET me have it, Father Pug5ley,
says the girl, taking the lantern witt
grasp he is powerlesS to resist. "I
there's a man or a boy in the house
with you, send them after me to th'
foot of Ragged Jack"
The wonderful power of instinc
has told her that if any harm has com
to John her conduct has caused it.
She sees him hurrying along the cliff
path when she left him with thos,
! taunting words on her lips. Sh'
; knows every inch of the path, an,
Johns loving, protecting care ha
taught her too well its dangers. A
the foot OF this massive pile Of gra.
, rocks, which the villagers call " Rag
ged Jack" the path seems to end sud
denly-so abrupt is the angle it make
round the Jagged mass. Fanny shud
: derS when she thinks of the jutting
t out crags below, and how much car
} and caution it would require in tn
darkness to follow the abrupt turn
of the slippery, uneven path. This
} scarcely thought. She hurries O.
: so fast that visions Of what NAV hay
!. befallen her lover seem to lure her o
4 to reach them as they move in bodil
a shape before her. At another tim
r Fanny would have been frightened a
the lonely darkness; now she heed
= nothing but the longing to find he
lover before any one else can reac
!. him.
/ She is near the point, when a sue
/ den gust of wind blows out her ligL
e not for long. She has seen, as sh
/ carried it, that old Pugsley had lei
D matches inside the lantern. But tha
moment of utter darkness, all alon
S on that giddy height, with the moar
: ing, gulping sound Of the hushin
waves below, shakes Fanny from hea
}, to foot.
n What if she cannot find him 2
D What if he has fallen to the bottom o
e. the cliff, and the hungry waves, ebl
: ing back, have carried him along wit
e them forever?
Her fingers grow unnerved an
trembling; she cannot relight the lar
tern. Even if she finds him he wi
Got be alive. He may be an indistir
= , guishable mass of broken bones an
wounds; too dreadful too think of.
A Flame az last, and with it the girl
oourapa rakindlac Che from, bIar c,iI