Night had fallen, and darkness at last enshrouded her as she faded out of view.

A drop of snow fell lightly upon the cold cheek of the young sailor, and the men gazed into the night in silence, appalled by the awful catastrophe.

Bentley, understanding it all, laid his hand lightly on Seymour's arm, saying softly,-- "Better clear the wreck and get the mizzen topsail and the fore and main sail in, sir, and reef the fore and main topsails; the spars are buckling fearfully.

She can't stand much more." "Oh, Bentley," he said with a sob, and then, mastering himself, he gave the necessary orders to clear away the wreck and take in the other sails, and close reef the topsails, in order to put the ship in proper trim for the rising storm; after which, the wind now permitting, the ship was headed for Philadelphia.
As Seymour turned to go below, he came face to face with Talbot.

The two men stood gazing at each other in silence.
"We still have an account to settle, Mr.Talbot," he said sternly.
"My God," said Talbot, hesitatingly, "was n't it awful?
How small, Seymour, are our quarrels in the face of that!" pointing out into the darkness,--"such a tremendous catastrophe as that is." Seymour looked at him curiously; the man had not yet fathomed the depth of the catastrophe to him, evidently.
"As for our quarrel," he continued in a manly, generous way, "I--perhaps I was wrong, Mr.Seymour.