"Save her
first!" said she. The woman did not know of anything, but that her children
were there; it was only in after days, and quiet hours, that she remembered
the young creature who pushed her forward to join her fatherless children,
and, by losing her place in the crowd, was jostled--where, she did not
know--but dreamed until her dying day. Edward pressed on, unaware that
Maggie was not close behind him. He was deaf to reproaches; and, heedless
of the hand stretched out to hold him back, sprang toward the boat. The men
there pushed her off--full and more than full as she was; and overboard he
fell into the sullen heaving waters.
His last shout had been on Maggie's name--a name she never thought to hear
again on earth, as she was pressed back, sick and suffocating. But suddenly
a voice rang out above all confused voices and moaning hungry waves, and
above the roaring fire.
"Maggie, Maggie! My Maggie!"
Out of the steerage side of the crowd a tall figure issued forth, begrimed
with smoke. She could not see, but she knew. As a tame bird flutters to the
human breast of its protector when affrighted by some mortal foe, so Maggie
fluttered and cowered into his arms. And, for a moment, there was no more
terror or thought of danger in the hearts of those twain, but only infinite
and absolute peace. She had no wonder how he came there: it was enough that
he was there.
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