"Why, simply because, as I say, he followed you off," said the skipper, with the superiority of a man who makes a statement knowing his facts to be all right, "and because, just as we'd got way on her, he came alongside and tried to hook on. If she hadn't been going too fast for him, he'd 'a been aboard; as it was he had to slip astern."

"And you think he read her name?" Veneda muttered hoarsely.

"O' course he did. Why, he couldn't have helped it if he had eyes in his head and knew his letters."

This unexpected news so staggered Veneda that for a moment it deprived him of speech. He began to experience an awful dread, not of the discovery of the means whereby he had obtained his fortune, but of the disclosure of the precious secret which guarded it. Instinctively he felt for the locket he wore round his neck, and in which reposed the slip of paper Juanita was so anxious to obtain.

Crawling along the sloping deck to the companion, he proceeded to his berth below. A swinging lamp lit the saloon, and in a gilt mirror upon the bulkhead he caught sight of his own face. He was startled beyond measure at its pallor.

"This won't do," he told himself as he undressed; "it's full early to be frightened; besides, who knows? He was so excited that it's just within the bounds of possibility he may not have read her name."

But do what he would he could not divest his mind of the thought that the Albino was aware of his plans. He had had good reason in the past to know that the dwarf really ruled the Society of which they were both members, and remembering his vindictive nature, he felt certain that neither pains nor money would be spared to ensure revenge for this last and most glaring piece of treachery. Consideration of these matters kept him tumbling and tossing in his bunk till long after midnight, to the accompaniment of groaning timbers, skurrying rats, and the crash of seas against the slender hull. When sleep did overtake him, his dreams were troubled; he imagined himself being hunted round the world by the Albino, who jumped after him across oceans, and from continent to continent, and at last ran him to earth in the big hall of his old familiar English school.

He was in the act of giving him the locket to square matters when he awoke to find a flood of bright sunshine streaming in through the dingy little disc that served him as a porthole. His joy at finding it was only a dream was intense, and while under the influence of that relief he dressed and went on deck, to find the captain once more on watch and the crew busily engaged in washing down.

The fresh breeze of the night before still continued, and if the foam at either bow, or the swirling water under the counter could be taken as evidence, the Island Queen was making the most of it. The sky was as blue and the sea as green as only Pacific skies and seas can be, and against it the taper masts, the hard-strained rigging, and the swelling sails, white as snow in the brilliant sunshine, made up a picture that found a responsive note in the relief which filled Veneda's heart. A cheerful smoke issued from the galley, at the door of which the shock-headed boy, "Old Nick," was engaged cleaning knives. Perhaps as the effect of the lovely morning, the captain showed himself a little more affable than he had been on the previous night. He nodded familiarly to his passenger, and prefaced his conversation by inquiring, with a peculiar sort of courtesy, after his wife's health. Further conversation on that subject, however, was put a stop to by the appearance of the lady herself, once more clad in the garments of her sex.

As she emerged from the companion, Veneda hastened forward to receive her, and when she had recognized the captain's presence they fell to promenading the deck together. Fortunately she was an excellent sailor, and the bright fresh morning and the brisk breeze brought a colour into her cheeks that made her, so Veneda could not help owning to himself, more than usually lovely. For half a moment he wondered why he should not trust her, and the temptation came upon him to forget his original intentions and to embody this splendid creature in his plans for the future. She was fitted to adorn any station in life, he told himself. But then, certain episodes in her past history obtruded themselves upon his recollection, and he was compelled to admit that such a thing must not be dreamt of for an instant.

But if a life's partnership were impossible, it was at least very pleasant to skim over summer seas in the company of one so evidently intended by nature to be all that was charming and agreeable to man. And indeed Juanita exerted herself prodigiously to please, so much so, that before they had been a week upon the voyage Veneda had once more entertained serious thoughts of casting his previous apprehensions to the winds and risking everything. Her behaviour was certainly calculated to disarm suspicion. Never, by even as much as a hint, did she lead him to suppose that she was in any way desirous of learning his secret. Her trust in him was the only thing self-evident, and even this she was too clever to exaggerate. Only once did she refer, and that indirectly, to the treasure which was the sole inducement of their flight, and I have often thought that that conversation was as strange as anything connected with that extraordinary voyage.

It originated in this way. They were leaning over the taffrail, watching for the rising of the moon. The schooner, racing along over the curling seas under reefed canvas, seemed like a thing of life. Her canvas towered aloft into the ghostly darkness, and the wind in the rigging and the drum of the seas against the hull were the only things that could be heard. The mate, Crawshaw, patrolled the opposite side of the deck with the regularity of a pendulum.

Juanita had been peculiarly quiet all the evening, out of which state Veneda had in vain tried to rally her.

"Marcos," she said suddenly in Spanish, nestling closer to his side, "does it ever occur to you to wish you had left me behind in Valparaiso?"

"Why, what on earth makes you ask such a question?" he replied. "Do you think I should grow tired of you so soon?"

"So soon!" she answered, looking up into his face. "You have had me with you a fortnight now, and there is not much variety on board a boat the size of the Island Queen. I should not be at all surprised if you said you were tired of my company."

"Well, I am not. So that settles it, doesn't it?"

"Marcos, why did you not let us go to England in a mail-boat? It would surely have been quicker and safer?"

"Because in that case Macklin could not help but have discovered our departure, and we should have been followed, if not murdered—that's why."

"And now?"

"Now no one knows our whereabouts; we can choose our own route when we leave Tahiti."

"And which way will it be, Marcos?"

"I have not decided yet."

She was silent for a minute or two. Then she said slowly, still keeping her eyes fixed on him—

"I think I understand. You have decided, but you dare not trust me."

His first and most natural impulse was to deny the accusation. But on second thoughts he adopted another course.

"You are quite right," he said with a laugh, "I certainly do not trust you. And what is perhaps more to the point, I don't intend to. All things considered, I don't think you have the right to blame me."

With a little laugh, and without a sign of vexation in her tone, she answered, "Perhaps you're right. At any rate, you're wiser than I am in such matters."

Then taking his arm, they returned to their constitutional up and down the deck, just as if nothing out of the common had occurred.

And so day by day sped by, glorious weather, smooth seas, blue skies, and fair winds accompanying them. It was more like a pleasure trip than a flight for life. Captain Boulger improved upon acquaintance, and even the mate, Crawshaw, rubbed off some of his angles as they grew to know him better.

Three weeks almost to a day after dropping Pitcairn behind them, they were on the fringe of the Society Islands; and at Papeete the captain proposed to touch, to obtain supplies. His passengers, he knew, though grudging the delay, would not be sorry for an opportunity to stretch their legs; for the size of the schooner did not, necessarily, permit much pedestrian exercise.

One morning, coming on deck, Crawshaw called Veneda to his side, and pointed to a low smudge showing faintly on the horizon.

"What is it?" the other asked.

"Tahiti," was the reply, and with the word, like the opening of a mill-sluice, Veneda's old anxieties rushed back upon him. In an hour or two he would know whether or not the Albino was aware of his destination.

By breakfast-time they were closing up on it. The high mountain peaks had risen well above the horizon, and from being a simple blotch upon the clear-cut sea-line, the land had developed a decided personality of its own. An hour later they were close enough to it to be able to plainly distinguish objects on shore, and were prepared to catch the first view of Papeete.

By midday they were abreast of the entrance to Papeete harbour, looking across the reef with its thundering surf to where the quaint little town lay nestling among the trees. As soon as they were sighted the pilot put off, and upon his gaining the deck the work of entering the harbour was proceeded with. Once they were inside and at a standstill, Veneda and Juanita departed ashore in search of luncheon. It was a new sensation for them to wander about together as strangers in a strange place, and Veneda watched to see what effect it would have upon his companion. She had lost something of her vivacity, and was inclined to be more wrapt up in her own thoughts than was usual with her.

Those who know Tahiti will know Charons (or the hostelry disguised under that name), and those who know Charons will remember Alphonse, the most obsequious of garçons, with his accumulated knowledge of traders and their schooners, missionaries, pilots, copra merchants, and all manner of strange beings and things appertaining to those delightful seas. Therefore, when I say that Veneda and Juanita were fortunate enough to secure the corner table in the big room, and the services of that indefatigable person, I am, as you will agree, ensuring them the pleasantest of times. With palates improved by the simple fare of the Island Queen, they investigated every course, enjoyed some excellent wine, trifled with dessert, and when they had drunk their coffee, proceeded to stretch their legs along the beautiful Broom Road.

It was a most luxurious day; a soft breeze played in fitful gusts among the tropic foliage, bearing upon its breast a thousand gentle, and to our travellers unaccustomed, odours. There was only one blot upon it; since his last glass of champagne, Veneda felt strangely sleepy, so much so, that when they had walked but a little way he expressed a wish to be allowed to sit down and admire the view. Nothing loth, Juanita consented, so down they sat awhile, talking, and gazing upon the panorama of sea and islands stretched before them. Her voice sounded wonderfully soothing as he listened, and bit by bit he found this mysterious desire for sleep overcoming him. His head gradually sought a pillow by her side, his eyes closed, and in less than five minutes he was unconscious.

Now Juanita, who had by no means been unmindful of his state (nor am I prepared to authoritatively state that she had not, in some measure, been the occasion of it), was too precipitate for her own safety. Such was her impatience that, without waiting to make certain that he was sound asleep, she must needs commence her search for the mysterious locket round his neck, which contained, she was convinced, the paper she was so desperately anxious to obtain. Perhaps in her hurry her touch was too rough, or Veneda was not so much overpowered with slumber as she imagined; at any rate, just as she had the precious locket in her hand, and was about to broach its contents, his eyes opened, and his hands closed on hers. Awkward as the situation was, her presence of mind never deserted her, and she prepared to laugh it off with the excuse she had prepared beforehand.

"Ah! my Marcos," she said jestingly, "it is well that you woke; for I am going to be furiously jealous. And pray what fair lady's portrait do you wear round your neck?"

For the moment Veneda was too amazed at her coolness to reply; then he replaced the locket, and assuming a pensive air, said—

"You may be as jealous of her as you please. That is my poor mother's miniature; the only remembrance I have of her. I will show it to you this evening, if you would care to see it. Now we must be getting back to the schooner."

His explanation was so simple and sincere that she was baffled completely. If he were telling the truth her surmises must be all wrong; if not, she had put him on his guard for the future.

But though he allowed no sign to escape him to show that he understood her attempt, he was none the less concerned about it.

"I was more than a fool," he said to himself when he was alone in his cabin, "to imagine that she could be anything but what I had always thought her. However, Madame Juanita, the game is by no means finished yet. There is an old saying that those laugh best who laugh last. We shall see."

Next morning at daylight the Island Queen bade farewell to Tahiti.

As soon as it was open, a stranger, who had arrived in the island from South America the previous week, sought the telegraph office, and placed the following message upon the counter—

CHAPTER VII.

When, after leaving Papeete, Veneda came to consider the facts connected with his excursion ashore, he could not help seeing two things very clearly. In the first place, he was quite convinced in his own mind that, to obtain the information she wanted, Juanita had drugged the champagne he had drunk at lunch; but in the second, though he was loth to let her treachery pass unpunished, he could not but tell himself that it would be a most foolish proceeding on his part to allow her to suspect that he considered it of sufficient importance to make a fuss about. To confess annoyance would be to admit that the locket contained what she was in search of, and this he was, naturally, most anxious not to do. One thing was very certain, the situation was becoming more and more complicated every day; for each twenty-four hours was bringing them nearer to civilization, and once there the difficulties of his position would be intensified a hundred-fold. If Juanita were really in collusion with the Albino, it was most imperative that she should be outwitted, and that within the next fortnight. But though he racked his brains day and night for a scheme, he could not hit upon one that was in any way likely to prove successful.

Their course now lay almost due west, and though they had land on every side, it was far from likely that they would touch anywhere until they reached Thursday Island, where Captain Boulger's contract ended. It was Veneda's intention to leave the schooner at that place, and to intercept a British India mail-boat homeward bound.

If the voyage had been enjoyable before, it became doubly so now; warm, sunny days, bright blue skies, sapphire seas, and the most exquisite island scenery in the world kept them company continually. The Society group lay far behind them; the Navigators were on the starboard bow; while Hope, Keppel and Tafahi, or Boscawen peered up, surf-girt, away to port. Had it not been for the friction which suddenly occurred between the captain and Veneda, it would have been like a little heaven on shipboard. But if the captain and his chief passenger could not agree, the same could not be said of the two passengers themselves, whose behaviour towards each other grew more and more affectionate as the owner of the schooner's animosity deepened.

All past troubles and doubts seemed as much forgotten as though they had never existed. They arranged their future with untrammelled freedom, and even went so far as to discuss what they should do with the money when they had possession of it. Juanita's suspicions were completely allayed. Though she devoted considerable thought to the matter, she was as far from understanding it as ever. She could only attribute the change to the fact that her companion had at last really fallen under the spell of her fascinations.

But on the evening of the day upon which they sighted Fortuna, or Horne Island, as it is more usually called, an awful and unexpected event occurred, which was destined to bring about as complete a revolution in their plans as even Veneda could wish.

The breeze, which had been very uncertain throughout the afternoon, at night dropped to the faintest zephyr. The peacefulness of the evening was awe-inspiring; the ocean lay smooth as a sheet of glass, rising and falling like the breast of a sleeping child. The sails hung limp and listless, and the man at the wheel, one Schlank, a big, burly, taciturn German, had barely enough work upon his hands to keep him awake. The mate was in charge of the deck, the captain and passengers being below at tea.

According to Crawshaw's account he had gone forward to give an order to the cook, and when he returned it was to discover the German away from the wheel, rolling to and fro upon the deck, retching in a terrible manner, and nearly black in the face. Not knowing what to make of it, he called a couple of hands aft and bade them carry the unfortunate man to his bunk, while he himself hailed the captain through the skylight, and took possession of the wheel.

When Boulger reached the deck he hastened forward to examine, the man himself, but he was too late—Schlank was dead!

What the nature of the disease was, which had carried him off, no one could tell, but that its effects were deadly in the extreme was evidenced by the suddenness with which it worked its purpose; for, according to his shipmates' account, the man was in the best of health when he went aft to the wheel an hour before.

This sad occurrence, as might be expected, threw a gloom over the entire ship, and both Juanita and Veneda felt little touches of nervousness when they allowed their minds to dwell upon it. Lest any infection should be caught from the body, the captain gave orders that it should be committed to the deep as soon as a hammock and the necessary preparations could be made.

Next morning, to every one's consternation, news came aft that Jacob Norris, another hand, had been struck down by the same mysterious complaint. The symptoms were identical with Schlank's case, and it appeared as if no remedy could be found in the ship's meagre medicine-chest to either alleviate the pain or to avert the disastrous consequences. Within an hour of being taken ill the second man was dead and overboard!

Then an awful terror took possession of everybody, and ominous mutterings of "Cholera" and "Yellow Jack" passed from mouth to mouth. Hitherto the disease seemed to have confined itself to the forecastle, but it was not to remain there long, for in the middle of his afternoon watch Crawshaw the mate was attacked. Veneda, who happened to be on deck at the time, saw him drop and ran to his assistance. Picking him up he carried him forrard and laid him on the hatch, at the same time sending a hand to rouse the captain. The poor fellow's agony was heart-rending, and in spite of all the remedies tried he too succumbed within the hour.

After this the consternation aboard the Island Queen may be better imagined than described. Every one went in fear and trembling, for no one knew who might not be the next attacked.

About nine o'clock that evening Juanita and Veneda were on deck. As on the preceding night, a wonderful stillness reigned. In the east the stars were beginning to pale, preparatory to the rising of the moon. The bo'sun, who had succeeded to poor Crawshaw's watch, was pacing to and fro near the binnacle, casting an eye ever and anon aloft and around him, as if in anticipation of a breath of wind.

Veneda and Juanita promenaded for awhile, and then crossed to the taffrail, against which they leant, conversing in low tones. In spite of the terrors of the day Veneda was in unusually good spirits. He rallied Juanita upon her quietness, and once more broached the subject of their future. Speaking softly so that the man at the wheel should not overhear them, he said—

"Juanita, my darling, our voyage is nearly ended; are you satisfied?"

She was quick to reply, and her voice had almost a tremor in it.

"More than satisfied, Marcos, if you love me as you say."

"Are you sure, Juanita? Think before you answer. Would you be content to take me for what I am?—to risk poverty with me if that fortune should be gone when we get to London?"

She hardly knew how to reply. Was this a trap? she asked herself. Slipping her hand over his with a gentle pressure, she said—

"Quite content, if you love me as I must be loved. But why do you speak as if our money should be gone?"

"Because nothing is safe. I think it is—you think it is; but if you found out my secret, why shouldn't the Albino have boxed it out and anticipated us, eh?"

In reality he was not thinking anything of the kind; he was telling himself that the peculiar note in her voice when she referred to the money was not quite what it should have been at the moment of his declaration of love. In spite of her cleverness, it evidenced what lay uppermost in her mind. But he was not going to betray that he had noticed anything.

While they talked the moon rose, and lent a wondrous beauty to the night, sweeping the stars from the sky as if by magic, and turning the sombre water into the likeness of a silver sea. The white and idle canvas threw strange shadows upon the decks, and with the moon's coming a light breeze stole across the surface of the deep, so that the schooner began to draw a little faster through the water. The bo'sun turned on his heel, and came aft to where the other two were standing.

"Nice evenin'," he said, by way of introduction; "the moon there makes it real pleasant on deck, don't it? You'll excuse me, sir, but maybe you don't happen to have a chaw of tobacco about you?"

Veneda gave him a piece, at the same time asking if there was any further sign of sickness forrard. The bos'un did not think so, and casting an eye aloft at the canvas now beginning to fill, and then at the compass card, prepared to air his theory of the malady.

"It's my belief," he said, expectorating vigorously over the side, "that it's no more nor less than pison,—fish-pisoning, I reckon it. Don't you tell me that cholera or Yellow Jack's a-goin' to come aboard this while out o' port—not it! Now, I mind a case once, where a schooner's crew mutinied ten days out from Sydney, their tucker not bein' good enough for 'em forrard. What must they do, when they'd got rid of the old man and the mate overboard, but break open the lazarette, and set to work on all the tinned fish they could lay their hands on!"

"What was the result?" Veneda asked carelessly.

"Why, that inside of three hours every mother's son o' that blamed crew was lyin' a-rollin' an' a-kickin' about the deck o' that schooner, turnin' black in the face, and lookin' for all the world as if they had swallowed half-a-pint o' pison apiece. When they was picked up by a man-o'-war, there was only one on 'em left to tell the tale, and he wouldn't ha' been there but for not bein' hungry that night, having started on cuddy bread, which is good an' fillin' at the price."

"And what makes you think," asked Juanita, "that the men on this ship have been poisoned? Have they eaten such fish as you describe?"

"Well now, there you have me, ma'am; I don't know as they have, but maybe it ain't fish this time, maybe it's somethin' else just as bad. For my part, I——"

At this moment the captain appeared on deck to relieve the bos'un, who, bidding them "good-night," went forrard. Veneda had grown suddenly silent, and when he had ensconced Juanita in a sheltered spot (for the wind was beginning to freshen), fell to pacing the deck as if he had something upon his mind. Once he stopped and spoke in a low voice to the captain; then he resumed his tramp, pausing now and again to lean against the bulwark and scan the moon-lit sea. About four bells (ten o'clock), Juanita declared her intention of going below, and he assisted her down the gangway. As he bade her good-night, she was struck by the change that had come over his face; he was deathly pale, and his eyes had a look that was very foreign to their usual state.

"Marcos," she said anxiously, steadying herself against the cuddy table, "there's something the matter with you; for heaven's sake take medicine at once; your face frightens me. Don't delay an instant! Oh! if anything should happen to you now!"

He laughed, and said huskily—

"Do you think you would care, my beauty? I rather doubt it." (Here he caught sight of his face in the glass.) "My God, but my face is bad though. I'll go and consult the skipper."

He turned towards the companion, but he was unable to reach it. He tottered, stretched his hands out feebly for the bulkhead, missed it, and fell prone upon the cuddy floor. With a scream Juanita sprang past him, and dashed up on deck. The skipper was beside the binnacle.

"Oh, captain!" she cried, "come quickly; he's dying, he's dying!"

It did not take the captain long to understand to whom she referred; the words were hardly uttered before he had passed the order for the bos'un to come aft and take charge, and was down in the cuddy, kneeling beside the sick man. The mysterious disease had found another victim.

Veneda's face was distorted almost beyond recognition; his limbs were strangely twisted and cramped; his breath came in great gasps; only his skin retained its extraordinary pallor. Juanita understood the captain to say that the symptoms were the same as in each of the previous cases.

Between them they carried him to his bunk.

"Now, ma'am," said Boulger, turning to Juanita, "I'm sorry, but I'll just have to trouble you to go to your own berth for a while. I can't have you running any risks here. Mr. Veneda's quite safe in my hands, and I'll let you know from time to time how he gets on."

But this was not in the least to her taste. She was not prepared to let any one else pry into her private concerns.

"Oh, Captain Boulger," she began, throwing all the sweetness she could muster into her voice and looks, "it's inhuman to think that I can remain away from him; you cannot expect it; let me help you with him. I'll be as patient and quick as possible, and I've had some experience in nursing—I really have."

"No, no, ma'am, I'd like to, but I can't allow it," Boulger replied, "it wouldn't be fair to ask me. What this devilish disease may be is more than I can tell, but as it's certain there's infection in it, I can't let any risks be run. Now, do go; you're only hindering me, and I must be looking after him, poor chap; he wants all the attention I can give him."

After this there was nothing for her but to submit, and I must do her the justice to admit that she did it with as good grace as possible.

In the security of her cabin a vague terror seized her. What if Veneda should die, and the locket be cast into the sea with him? The thought almost took her breath away. Come what might, she must have a few moments alone with the sick man, or, in the event of his death, with his body.

True to his word, at regular intervals, hour after hour, the skipper presented himself at her door with the latest bulletins of his patient's condition. "Just a leetle better"—"Just so so"—"Not much change"—"Seems a bit weaker"—"Another awful attack," was the order in which they ran. On hearing the last she broke down completely, and for some reason which I am unable to explain, fell to sobbing as if her heart would break.

Suddenly a strange craving came over her, and rising from her bunk she procured and propped her crucifix against the tiny wash-hand basin, and kneeling on the sloping floor before it, endeavoured to frame a prayer for the passing of the man's soul. Her long black hair hung in glorious profusion about her shoulders; tears streamed down her pallid cheeks; and her lips continually faltered over the words she tried to utter. When she had finished, her spirits recovered, and crawling back into her bed, she fell asleep.

It was long after daybreak before she awoke. The sun was shining brightly through the porthole above her bunk, and from the angle at which the schooner was lying, she knew a fresh breeze must be blowing.

Urged by a great anxiety to learn the latest news of Veneda's state, she dressed with all the haste she could command, and passed into the cuddy. As she entered it, the captain emerged from the berth opposite and greeted her with a mournful face. She divined the worst.

"You're going to tell me that he is dead," she said, clutching at the table.

"Ma'am, it's a thing which must come sooner or later to all of us. I won't deceive you—he is dead—passed away in the hope of a glorious resurrection, twelve minutes afore three bells in this morning's watch. Now, don't take on about it too much, there's a good girl, for he's better as he is than suffering the agonies he went through all night. You couldn't wish it, I know."

"Dead! dead!" was all she could say. It seemed impossible that it could be true. The news stunned her. Though she had expected and dreaded the worst, she had no idea that it would have come so soon. What should she do now? In spite of her consternation, her own position was always uppermost in her mind. It behoved her to play her cards carefully, or she might lose everything. Assuming a look of hopeless grief, unable to find relief in tears, she faltered—

"Take me to him."

Without another word Boulger led the way across to the cabin, and opened the door. She prepared to enter, but he would not permit it.

"No, ma'am," he said kindly, but with determination, "as I said last night, you cannot go in; this ship's mine, and while there's infection aboard, I'm not the man to run risks. But seeing he's your husband—and I'm real grieved for you—I'll stretch a point, and let you see him from here. But I dare not pass you in."

So saying, he went in himself, and approached the figure lying stiff and stark under a blanket in the bunk. Pulling the covering aside, he allowed Juanita a view of the drawn and pallid face beneath. A terrible change had come over the man, and accustomed though she was to what are called horrible sights, she was compelled to avert her eyes. Seeing this, Boulger re-drew the blanket, and came out of the cabin, securely locking the door behind him. Then, with a fatherly air, he placed his arm around the woman's waist and led her on deck, whistling the Dead March softly as they went.

In the bright sunshine the horrors of the cabin were for a time dispelled from her memory. It was a glorious morning. The wind, which on the previous night had been so weak, now blew with invigorating freshness. The schooner, under a press of sail, was ploughing her way through the green water as if conscious of her strength, turning the sea away in two snowy furrows from either bow. Dotted about on either hand were numerous small islands; and thinking it might distract her thoughts, the skipper named them to her.

Ahead, across the curling seas, and not more than eight miles distant, rose the mountains of Vanua Lava, the largest island of the Banks Group. A few clouds rested gracefully on the topmost peaks, and so clear was the air that it was already just possible to make out the native villages ashore. Suddenly an idea leapt into Juanita's brain; a brilliant inspiration that she wondered had not occurred to her before. Turning to the captain, who stood beside her, and who was inwardly wondering at the vivacity of her expression, she said—

"Captain, there is one thing I should like you to get for me—I know you will not deny it—a locket he wears round his neck."

"No, ma'am; I'm real sorry, but that I can't do. He asked particularly that it should be buried with him. It's his mother's portrait, and we mustn't go against that."

Juanita could have cried with vexation. But she dared not show it. She had still another card to play.

"Where will you bury him? Not at sea, captain; oh, not at sea!"

"And pray why not at sea, ma'am?" the captain replied, pulling himself up short in a rendering of "Rock of Ages,"—"many a good man has been buried at sea."

"Of course, I know that," she sobbed; "but oh, I cannot bear to think of his poor body tossing about for all time under those cruel waves, the prey of every shark and fish! Oh! no, no, I beseech you, do not let it be at sea."

Her grief was so sincere that the captain was visibly affected.

"What would you have me do then, my dear ma'am?" he asked tenderly, thinking he would go a long way towards obliging her if she always pleaded like that.

"Why not bury him on land?" she asked, turning her tear-laden eyes towards the island they were approaching; "surely it would not be so very difficult?"

"Well," replied the captain, after a moment's consideration, "if you're so set upon it, I don't know but what it can't be done; we'll see, at any rate. Now you just come along down and have a bit of breakfast. It'll cheer you up more than anything."

When they returned to the deck the island was abeam. The captain occupied himself with a careful study of authorities, and then selecting a spot, hove the schooner to off a thickly-wooded bluff. Sounds of carpentering came from forrard, and Boulger, who had quite constituted himself Juanita's protector, took care that she should not go too near lest she should see the work which occasioned it.

It was well into the afternoon before the arrangements for the funeral, including the digging of the grave ashore, were completed. As soon as all was ready the captain informed Juanita, who thereupon prepared herself to accompany the party.

When the long-boat was swung overboard and brought alongside, sounds of scrambling feet came up the companion-ladder, and next moment the captain, carpenter, and two of the crew appeared, bearing the rough coffin which the carpenter had managed to knock together. With some difficulty it was lowered into the boat, and then, the captain steering, Juanita sitting beside him, and two of the hands pulling, they set out for the shore.

Unlike most approaches to the island, the deep water extended right up; consequently the boat was able to discharge its burden on the beach without much difficulty. Having landed, they marched to the grave, situated beneath a grove of cocoa-nut trees, some hundred yards from the shore. The captain, whom Nature seemed to have designed for the work, delivered a short but impressive address, and then the remains of Marcos Veneda were committed to the ground.

To Juanita it was all a whirl. She could not realize that the man had passed out of her life—that he whom she had admired for his strength in Chili was now an inanimate substance on Vanua Lava. The whole thing had been so sudden that she had had no time to prepare herself for the shock. Yesterday he was triumphant in all the consciousness of living; to-day he was only a memory, a part of the mysterious, irreclaimable Past!

The funeral over they returned to the schooner, which at sundown weighed anchor, and resumed her voyage to Thursday Island. It certainly seemed as if Veneda was to be the last victim of the malady, for not another soul was attacked.

The following morning, after breakfast, the captain escorted Juanita to the vacant cabin, and handed her the dead man's goods and chattels. With a well-simulated air of grief she bore them to her own berth, in order to examine them. They made only a small parcel, but hunt through them as she would, no sign of either letter or locket could she find. The contents were simple in the extreme—a few clothes, a pocket-book containing twenty pounds in English gold, a tattered Horace, a knife, a ring, and a few little personal odds and ends, completed the total. Waiting her opportunity, she again approached the captain on the subject of the locket, but he had only the same answer for her.

"What he had on him, ma'am," he solemnly declared, "I reckoned was his own property, and left there; so the locket you speak of is under three foot of earth now, back there in Vanua Lava; meaning no disrespect to you, ma'am."

This was all the information Juanita could gather on the subject. Nor did she press the matter further. Fortunately her own immediate comfort was provided for by the twenty pounds, of which she assumed undisputed possession. Had it not been for this she would have found herself placed in a very awkward situation.

The rest of the voyage needs little chronicling; suffice it that ten days later the schooner dropped her anchor off Thursday Island, her eventful journey completed.

When Captain Boulger bade Juanita farewell, he asked if she had formed any definite plans regarding her future. She hesitated before replying, but finally said that she thought of remaining in the island until she had communicated with her friends. He felt a touch of pity for her loneliness, and proffered any assistance within his power. She, however, declined it with thanks, and a day later the Island Queen departed on her return voyage to Tahiti.

The same night, the Thursday Island telegraph operator was in the act of closing his office, when the following mysterious message was handed in—

PART II.

CHAPTER I.

One assertion I can safely make, and that is that this is the first time I have ever undertaken such a contract. For writing was always a trouble to me; and now I come to think of it, it was that very hatred of penmanship which resulted in my being concerned in what I shall always call that "Chilian Mystery." For, had I proved an apt writer, I should in all probability have made a good clerk; and had I turned out a good clerk, I should never have become a sailor; and to continue the argument ad infinitum, had I not become a sailor, I should certainly never have known anything of the story my cousin has begun, and which I am now called upon to continue.

As I am perhaps the chief actor in the latter part of this history, and as in matters of this sort it is always best, according to my way of thinking, to begin at the very beginning, I may perhaps be excused if I briefly narrate the principal events of my life which led up to my connection with it.

To begin with, let me remark that I was born in the village of Coombe, near Salisbury, in the county of Wiltshire, where my father was a country doctor. He, poor man, had the misfortune to be peculiarly devoted to his profession, so much so, that it was neither more nor less than sheer overwork which occasioned his untimely end.

That sad event occurred within a week of my seventh birthday. And with the remembrance of his funeral, a peculiarly sombre picture rises before my mind's eye. I see a dreary autumnal day; thick mists upon the hill-tops, dripping trees, and a still more dismal procession, winding its way along the high-road, unrelieved by any touch of colour. And, incongruously enough, the whole recollection is heightened by the remembrance of a pair of black cloth breeches worn by me on that melancholy occasion for the first time. By such small and seemingly unimportant things are great events impressed upon our memories.

Perhaps after my father's death I proved myself a handful to manage; perhaps my mother really thought it the best thing for me. At any rate, a boarding-school was chosen for me at Plymouth, to which she herself reluctantly conducted me. Being her only child, and having hitherto been accustomed to get my own way at all times and seasons, this maternal abandonment was a proceeding I could not appreciate. I evinced, I believe, a decided objection to saying farewell to her, and I know I found only inadequate consolation in either the ancient dame who kept the school (who promised my parent to be a mother to me, and for that reason perhaps caned me soundly before I had been twenty-four hours under her charge), the house, or my school-fellows, who figure in my memory as the most objectionable set of young ruffians with whom I had ever come into contact.

For three years I continued a pupil of this "Seminary for the Sons of Gentlemen," and should perhaps have remained longer had I not experienced the misfortune of being expelled, for laying a fellow-scholar's head open with a drawing-board; a precocity at ten years which was plainly held to foreshadow my certain ultimate arrival at the condemned cell and the gallows. After that, from the age of ten until fifteen, I drifted from school to school, deriving but small benefit from any one of them, and every term bringing my dear mother's grey hairs (as she would persist in putting it) nearer and nearer to the grave, by reason of the unsatisfactory nature of my reports.

At fifteen, being a well-set-up stripling for my years, and like to fall into all sorts of errors as to my proper importance in life, if allowed to remain any longer with boys younger than myself, I was taken away and carried to London, in order that my mother might consult with an old friend as to my future. How well I remember that journey, and the novelty of seeing London for the first time!

Arriving at Waterloo, we drove to Notting Hill, and next morning went by omnibus into the city to discover Sir Benjamin Plowden in the East India Avenue.

Never, if I live to be a hundred, shall I forget my first impression of that office, and the unaccustomed and humiliating feeling which stole over me as I crossed the threshold behind my mother, to await an audience with this mysterious Sir Benjamin. It was one thing, I discovered, to be the cock of a small country school, and quite another to be an applicant for a junior clerkship, at a salary of five shillings a week, in a London merchant's office.

At the end of five minutes a liveried servant entered the waiting-room, and informed us that "Sir Benjamin would see us now, if we'd be good enough to step this way." Thereupon my mother gathered up her impedimenta, including a reticule, a small black handbag, an umbrella, a shawl, a paper bag of sponge-cakes, and her spectacle-case, and toddled down the passage after him, leaving me to follow in her wake, my heart the while thumping like a flail against my ribs.

Ever since that morning, when I desire to realize a man in every way embodying my idea of what a merchant prince should be, I recall my first impression of Sir Benjamin. At the date of our visit he was on the hither side of fifty, of medium height, stout and bald, with curly white whiskers, a shaven chin and upper lip, very rosy as to his complexion, dignified in his bearing, and given to saying "Hum, ha!" on all possible occasions.

He received my mother with cordiality, and even went so far as to recognize my presence with an expressive speech,—"So this is your boy,—a big fellow,—like his father about the mouth,—too old to be idling about country towns, getting into mischief, and deriving a false idea of his own importance. Hum, ha!" After which I was left to my own thoughts, while they entered upon an animated discussion for perhaps the space of half-an-hour.

At the end of this time he rose—I think, as a hint to my mother—and rang the bell. It was answered by the same dignified man-servant who had ushered us into his presence; whereupon Sir Benjamin bade us farewell, promising to communicate with my mother on the subject they had been discussing at an early date; and we were escorted out. I, for one, was not sorry that the interview was over.

Leaving the Avenue, we visited the British Museum, by way of counteracting the two serious impressions forced upon my mind by the ordeal we had just undergone, I suppose; and here my mother, in the middle of the Egyptian Department, surrounded by evidences of an extinct civilization, gravely prophesied the eminence to which I should some day attain, if only Sir Benjamin could be induced to take an interest in me.

As if in answer to her words, two days later I was the recipient of a letter signed by Sir Benjamin himself, in which it was stated that a position had been found for me in his own office, at a salary of ten shillings a week. I must leave you to picture my sensations. Surely no possessor of an autograph letter from the throne itself could have been prouder than I that day. As for my mother, she argued confidently that my Future (with a capital F) had undoubtedly commenced. And, between ourselves, I certainly think it had.

It is not necessary, for the understanding of the story I have to tell, that I should enter upon a recital of my life in the East India Avenue; let it suffice, that it did not come up to the expectations I had formed regarding it. The hours were long, the supervision was constant and irksome, the superiority of the other clerks humiliating, while the personal attention and affability which my dear mother had led me to expect from Sir Benjamin was not only not forthcoming, but showed no signs of making its appearance at any time within the next half-century.

However, there were many compensations to balance these petty annoyances, and chief among them I reckoned that of carrying letters and papers to the docks, where the ships which brought Sir Benjamin's merchandise from far countries discharged their cargoes.

Nothing gave me greater happiness than these little excursions, and when I had fulfilled my errand, it was my invariable custom to enter upon an investigation on my own account, wandering all over the mysterious vessels, asking questions innumerable about the strange places they visited, and, I have no doubt now, making myself a complete and insufferable nuisance generally. Perhaps that was why, throughout my sailoring career, I had always a sneaking sympathy with boys who boarded us, and asked permission to look round. At any rate, I am convinced that those journeys were what made me believe I had at last hit upon my vocation in life; for I know that every time I passed outwards through the dock-gates, I renewed my vow that before many years were over I would become a sailor, and the commander of just such another ship as that I had lately overhauled.

This sort of life continued with but slight variation until I was on the verge of seventeen, when I made a firm resolve to assert myself, and embark upon the calling I had marked out for my own. My mother was prepared in some manner for the blow, for she certainly could not have failed to notice the way my inclinations tended; so when I broached the subject she offered no objections, only sighed somewhat sadly, and said "she was afraid a time would come when I should repent it." Little did the poor soul know to what a fatal prophecy she was giving utterance.

A day later, for the second and last time in her life, she visited Sir Benjamin, and the following morning I was summoned to his presence.

"Your mother tells me you wish to leave my employ to become a sailor," he began, when I had closed the door behind me and approached his table. "Now you know your own business best, but remember it's a hard life, more kicks than halfpence; and what is worse, I can assure you that when you have once taken to it, you'll never be fit for anything else again. You have thought it over, I suppose?"

I modestly replied that I had devoted a good deal of consideration to the matter, and would have gone on to say that I wished for nothing better had he not interrupted me.

"Very good; I've promised your mother to do the best I can for you, so you'll be apprenticed to the Yellow Diamond Line as soon as I can see about it. You'll probably be surprised to hear that I think you're a fool, but I suppose in this world there must be a proportion of fools to balance the wise men, or we'd all come to grief. Hum, ha!"

He was true to his promise, for the following week I received a notification to attend at the head office of the Yellow Diamond Line of clipper ships. Here I complied with the formalities, signed the necessary papers, and had the satisfaction of leaving the Company's office to all intents and purposes a member of the nautical profession. It was arranged that I should desert Sir Benjamin's employment at the end of the month, and after that I was confident my real career would commence. It is, I think, one of the most wonderful things in our poor human nature, that we should always look forward to the future with so much confidence, PROportionately the more when we have perhaps the least justification for it. For my own part, when I left the Company's office I would not have changed places with the Prime Minister himself; yet such is the perversity of fate that, not six hours from the time of my signing the papers, I would have given anything I possessed to have been allowed to forfeit my premium and to remain ashore. This is how it came about.

Sir Benjamin was laid up with an attack of gout, and it became necessary to obtain his signature to some important letters. About four o'clock in the afternoon, therefore, the chief clerk sent for me, and giving into my care a small despatch-bag, bade me take a cab, and drive with it to Sir Benjamin's residence in Holland Park. Nothing loth, off I set.

The East India merchant's home was a most imposing place, and it was with some little awe that I rang the great front-door bell, and requested the dignified butler to inform me if I could see his master. Saying he would find out, he ushered me into a small room off the hall, to which he presently returned with the request that I would accompany him up-stairs.

I found my employer propped up in a chair near the fire, nursing his swaddled leg. Beside him was seated a young lady I had never seen before, but of whom I had often heard my mother speak,—his daughter Maud.

When I entered she was for leaving us, but this Sir Benjamin would not permit. Having received the papers from my hands, he turned to her and said (and I regarded it as a mark of unusual condescension)—

"My dear, let me introduce Mr. John Ramsay to you; a young gentleman who is forsaking the East India Avenue to distinguish himself by falling off the topsail-yard. Mr. Ramsay, my daughter!"

Then he settled himself down to the papers I had brought, and I was left free for conversation with his daughter.

As a rule I am considered bashful with strangers, but such was Maud Plowden's wonderful knack of setting people at their ease, that I would defy any man to remain shy very long in her company. I do not mean to infer by this that she was an extraordinarily beautiful girl, for though I have heard people go into ecstasies about that, her charm lay not so much in her face as in her voice and manner. Of one thing at least I am quite certain, had I a secret I was desirous of obtaining from a man, I would rather trust Maud to coax it from him than the most beautiful or dangerous woman in existence.

When ten minutes later I re-took my seat in the cab, I was in love for the first time in my life. And then it was that I began to regret not having been content to remain quietly in Sir Benjamin's office, where I might have found other opportunities of improving my acquaintance with his charming daughter. It was certainly the irony of fate, that when I wanted to embrace the nautical profession, no opportunity was vouchsafed me; but when I did not want to take to it, I had no option but to do so.

It is not my intention, even had I the space, to narrate all that befell me before my departure on my first voyage, but will content myself by remarking that not only did my uniform almost satisfy me, but that on my first day of wearing it (and you may be sure, like most youths, I seized the opportunity as soon as it presented itself), who should drive up to our door but Maud Plowden herself. I had forgotten until then that my mother and she had developed a sudden but intimate acquaintanceship.

What she said to me or what I said to her during the space that she remained under our roof I cannot recall, but I remember that when she went away, it seemed as if all the sunshine had gone out of the house.

What a strange and indeed weird experience that first falling in love is, and, as a rule, how signally we fail to estimate its true importance in the building up of a life's character! Is it not a time of high ambitions, of pure intentions, of great resolves,—when not to succeed is a thing impossible? A period of our lives when women are all pure and noble, and men all brave and honest! Oh, the pity, for humanity's sake, that there should ever come an awakening!

On the Thursday following that tea-drinking, I joined my ship, the Beretania, then lying in the East India Docks. My mother came to see me off, and her tears and parting blessing opened my eyes to my conduct towards herself, showing me my position in a new and exceedingly unpleasant light.

And now as my doings for the term of my apprenticeship would form but poor reading, let me skip a few years, and come to the time when I returned to England to a certain extent tired of Father Ocean, but very proud of my position as third mate. I was then, to all intents and purposes, a man, six feet in height, broad of shoulder, and, if my doting mother could be believed, not altogether deficient in good looks. On that point, however, I must be mute.

As we had just hailed from China, it was only natural that I should have brought with me a whole cargo of curios. These I intended for family presents, and on the day following my arrival I sorted them out, retaining those I most admired for my mother herself, and setting apart those I did not care very much about for transmission to any relatives and acquaintances she might think worthy of the notice. Among the prettiest of the things was an exquisitely inlaid tortoiseshell and ivory card-case, which, in my own mind, I had destined for Maud, if I could but find an opportunity of giving it to her.

This came sooner than I expected, for on the afternoon following my arrival she dropped in to five o'clock tea, and as she intended to walk back, I had the delight, not only of presenting her with my gift, but also of escorting her, at my mother's desire, a little way upon her homeward road. Now I'm not vain enough to think that she was already in love with me (the sin of conceit cannot at least be laid to my charge), but I'm certain, and even she herself admits it now, that after that night she was not altogether indifferent to me. However, be that as it may, I saw her no more during my leave ashore, and it must have been two full years before I looked into her face again.

When I reached England the next time, I had not only been twice round the world, visiting China, Australia, and both North and South America in so doing, but had passed my examination for chief officer, though I only held a second officer's position.

It was close upon Christmas when we arrived, the Serpentine was frozen, and skating parties were in full swing. Now skating is an amusement of which I have always been fond, though naturally in my profession I did not get many opportunities of indulging in it. For this reason, when I did I made the most of them, and that season was a notable instance.

One morning, on the Serpentine, I had the good fortune to catch a young lady just as she was about to fall in such a manner that the consequence could only have been a nasty sprain. She thanked me prettily, and a few moments later her protector on the ice crossed over to where I sat taking off my skates, and added an expression of his gratitude. Somehow his face seemed strangely familiar to me, and it was not long before I recognized in him a nephew of Sir Benjamin Plowden, with whom I had been slightly acquainted in by-gone days. Making myself known, I was taken across and formally introduced to the lady, who turned out to be his wife. We strolled part of the way back together, and next day, to my surprise, I received a card for an "At Home" at their residence the following night.

Now though I am not particularly fond of "At Homes," I suppose my destiny ordained that I should accept this invitation. It was altogether a brilliant affair, and as there was dancing, and Captain Plowden (for that was my host's name) was kind enough to see that I did not want for partners, I enjoyed myself hugely.

Towards the middle of the evening I happened to be standing near the door of the ball-room, when, to my astonishment and delight, who should enter but Maud, leaning on her father's arm. To make myself known to Sir Benjamin (for I had altered so much since my last interview with him that I doubt very much if he would have known me else) was the work of an instant, and before a spectator could have counted a hundred I had completed the necessary preliminaries, and was waltzing up the room, my arm round Maud's waist, and my whole being intoxicated with the fragrance of her presence.

Whether I danced well or ill, whether my step suited hers, what the music was, or why we did not collide with every other couple on the floor, I do not know. I was only conscious that I was dancing with Maud, that I held her in my arms, that I was looking into her face and listening to her voice. When the music ceased I led her through the drawing-room into the conservatory, and finding two vacant seats settled myself beside her.

How can I describe all the delights of that evening! It would be impossible, for beyond the fact that just before supper I blurted out a question which had been on the tip of my tongue for years, it is all one mist of rose-coloured light.

When I left the house I trod on air, I was the happiest man in England, for I had proposed to Maud, and she had accepted me! Though it was considerably past two o'clock when I reached home, what must I do but wake the mother up to tell her my glorious tidings; and I know her congratulations were genuine, though, in her confused state, the dear old soul could hardly make head or tail of what I said to her.

As early next morning as my conscience would permit, I set off to call upon Sir Benjamin, hoping to catch him and get my interview over before he should leave for the city. Arriving at the house, I was shown into the morning-room, and I had not been there two minutes before Maud entered. If she had appeared adorable the night before, she was doubly so now, and the pretty little air of embarrassment which possessed her did not, I promise you, detract from her beauty in my eyes.

"Oh, Jack," she began—for somehow every one calls me Jack—"how good of you to come so early!"

I thought it was rather a matter for shame, but didn't say so.

"I have come to see your father, Maud," I answered, making, I do not doubt, a rueful face; "and though I know him so well, I feel for all the world like a criminal going to execution. Have you said anything to him about it?"

"Yes," she whispered, nestling her head on my shoulder, "I could not help it, Jack; you see I have no mother to advise me, and I felt that I must tell somebody. You don't mind?"

"Mind, my darling, as if I should mind anything you might do. And what did he say to it?" I asked this rather anxiously. "I know he won't altogether approve, but does he dislike the idea so very much?"

Maud made what is, I believe, correctly termed a little moue before she replied.

"Well, to tell you the truth, Jack, I'm afraid he's not overjoyed about it; but then perhaps it's quite natural; you see, I'm his only child, and—well, he's not seen as much of you as I have, so he doesn't know all your good qualities."

The proper answer to such a speech cannot be put on paper, and, even if it could, I doubt whether it would prove of very much interest here. It was accomplished only just in time, for next moment Sir Benjamin entered, and Maud with an encouraging glance at me withdrew.

Though he had aged a good deal since I had left his employ, he was brisk enough this morning, and to my sorrow I could see not best pleased. I cannot, however, conscientiously say that his greeting was any the less sincere, but his tone was a little more curt, and his demeanour decidedly stiffer, than when I had met him on the previous evening. He seated himself opposite me, and came to business at once.

"I suppose you're aware, Mr. Ramsay, that my daughter has told me of the offer you made her last night?"

When I had signified that I was, he continued—

"Now I'll be bound you don't know what a shock a piece of information like that gives to a man of my years. I was, of course, quite aware that Maud would be likely to marry sooner or later, but somehow I had never brought myself face to face with the actual situation before. Do you know that she is a very considerable heiress?"

I ventured to remark that I had been so informed, and started to try and convince him that my offer had nothing whatever to do with such a circumstance. But he stopped me.

"I know exactly what you're going to say. If I mistake not, I said it myself once upon a time. But tell me, John Ramsay, what would you say of a young man, five-and-twenty years of age, mate of a sailing ship, with nothing but his pay to depend upon, who proposed to a rich merchant's daughter with an income of something like six thousand a year. Reflect for a minute, and then tell me what you would think of him?"

This was a poser, but I made shift to answer it.

"I should say that it couldn't matter how much money she had if he really loved her, and thought he could make her happy."

He sniffed scornfully.

"Exactly what I thought. Now that's all very pretty. But to look at it in another light. We'll suppose that I give my consent to your marriage, what are your intentions then? Are you going to remain at sea, and leave your wife unprotected ashore, or are you going to abandon your profession, and live a life of idle luxury on her money? For, as I warned you years ago, you're fit for no other calling now."

I could not answer either way, and I think he saw my difficulty, for he rose and came over to me. Putting his hand on my shoulder, and speaking in a kinder tone than he had adopted yet, he said—

"Jack Ramsay, you understand what a problem it is. I like you, my boy, and I like your family; I think you're a steady, honest young fellow, and a credit to your calling; what is more, I know you love my girl, and I'm certain that she loves you. For these reasons I shall not definitely forbid your engagement."

"Oh, Sir Benjamin," I hastened to say, "how can I express my gratitude!"

"Hold on, sir, hear me out. Though, as I say, I shall not definitely forbid your engagement, yet remember, I do not sanction it. I shall not do so until I see how you behave. If I know that you work hard, and do your best to advance in your profession, it will be something for me to go upon, and I may eventually find sufficient reason to allow your marriage. Now, good-morning. Maud, I don't doubt, is awaiting you in the drawing-room. You had better tell her what I've told you."

So saying, the worthy merchant shook me by the hand, and hobbled from the room, leaving me a good deal more relieved than I had expected to be by the nature of his communication.

Over the bliss of the succeeding fortnight I must draw a curtain. Of course I saw Maud every day; and equally, of course, each twenty-four hours convinced me more and more of the wisdom of my choice. But, like the school-boy's Black Monday, the fatal day of parting had to come; and, accordingly, one miserable Wednesday night I bade my darling farewell, and next morning, with a heavy heart, rejoined my ship and put back to sea.