A night like this brings spoils to the island
shores, and many are abroad, looking right and
left, by break of day. On this particular morning,
at early dawn, two men were hurrying along
the north-east headlands. The might of the
storm had subsided, and the black night was
blenching to a pallid grey. Streaks of purple
and green rode over the seething ocean, tinting
the foam of the tossing surges, whose blinding
wreaths thickened the air like angry snow-drifts.
Now rosy bars began blushing out from the
eastward, glowing and spreading till they looked
like the trail of fiery wings—the fiery wings of
the Angel of Death, passing in again at the
gates of heaven. Coming along in this splendid
dawn, the two men saw a female figure hastening
as if to meet them.

It was Maureen in her wedding-gown and her
wedding-cloak, with a new azure kerchief tied
over her pretty gold hair. Her face was turned
to the sea, and the men saw only the rim of her
Ihin white cheek as she passed them by without
seeming to see them.

"Presarve us!" said one; "she's ready for
her weddin' airly. Where is she boun' for at
this hour do ye think?"

"God knows!" said the other. "I niver
seen a sowl got so wild-like. If I was Con
Lavelle I would wash my han's o' her."

"Sorra fears o' Con doin' any sich thing!"
laughed the other. " But where ondher heaven
is she gettin' out to now? Mother o' marcy!
it's not goin' to dhrownd herself she is?"

The men were still on the headlands, but
Maureen had descended to the beach. Ploughing
her way through the wet slippery shingle,
she had gained a line of low rocks, on which the
surf was dashing, and she was now clambering on
hands and knees to reach the top of the furthest
and most difficult of the chain yet bared.

"Och, it's lookin' for Mike she is, poor girl!"
said one of the men, " an' feth, she may save
hersel' the throuble. The safest ship that iver
he sailed in wouldn't carry him within miles o'
Bofin last night. Whisht! what's yon black
thing out far there agin the sky? Show us yer
glass."

The other produced an old battered smuggler's
telescope, and, turn about, they peered long and
steadily out to sea.

"Oh, throth it's a wreck!" said the one.

"Av, feth!" said the other.

"Well!" said the first, " God rest the poor
sowls that are gone to their reck'nin', but it's
an ill win' that blows nobody good. There'll
be many's the bit of a thing washin' in afore
nightfall. Maureen!" he cried out, suddenly,
raising his voice to a roar. " My God! I was
feared she was mad. Maureen!"

A long unearthly cry was the answer, ringing
through the dawn. Maureen had been crouching
on her knees, dangerously bending to the
foam, as if searching under the curve of each
breaker as it crashed up and split its boiling
froth upon the rock. Now she rose up with
her terrific cry, and, throwing her arms wildly
over her head', leaped into the sea and
disappeared.

Running swiftly down the headlands, the
men gained the beach, and there they saw
Maureen, not floating out to sea upon the
waves, but standing battling with them, up to
her waist in the seething foam, clinging with
one hand to the rock beside her, and with the
other tugging in desperation at something dark
and heavy that rose and sank with the swelling
and rebounding of the tide. Dashing into the
water, the men were quickly at her side.

"It is Mike!" gasped Maureen, half blinded,
half choking with the surf. " Bring him in!"

They loosened her fingers from that dark
heavy something, and found that, indeed, it was
the body of a man. They laid him on the beach,
drew the hair from his face, and recognised their
old comrade, Mike Tiernay. Maureen uttered
no more wild cries. She took the cloak from
her shoulders and spread it up to his chin. She
put her hand into his bosom, found the ring she
had given him attached round his neck by a
string, and slipped it at once upon her finger.
Then she sat down and laid his head upon her
knee.

"Will you go," she said, calmly, to the men,
"and tell Con Lavelle that Mike Tiernay has
come home? Will ye tell him," she added,
holding up her hand— " will ye tell him Maureen
Lacey has a ring upon her finger?"

And this was all the wedding that Bofin saw
that day.

But little further of Maureen Lacey is known
to the writer of this history. The wreck of the
ship in which Mike had been returning was one
of those disasters whose details fill the daily
newspapers in winter-time. Sewn in the poor
fellow's jacket was found a note for a good little
sum of money. The following year a fever
visited the island, sweeping off, amongst others,
Maureen's stepmother, and all her children but
one. After this, Maureen sold all their worldly
goods, and departed for America with her little
brother in her arms.

NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS,
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
"Pickwick," "Copperfleld," &c.
Now publishing, PART XI., price Is., of
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.
BY CHARLES DICKENS.
IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
London: CHAPMAN and HALL. 193, Piccadilly.

In Number 313, to be published on the 19th of April, will
be commenced a new Serial Novel, entitled
HALF A MILLION OF MONEY,
By AMELIA B. EDWARDS,
Author of "BARBARA'S HISTORY."