ground; the reason being, that before they had horses, the dogs were trained to drag the lodgepoles on the march in that way; and even where this trailing is now done by horses, the old sign for 'the dog' is still retained.

The true meaning of the few gesture-signs which still remain in use among ourselves, is well worthy of examination. For example, 'the sign of snapping one's fingers,' says Mr Tylor, is not very intelligible, as we generally see it; but when we notice that the same sign made quite gently, as if rolling some tiny object away with the thumbnail and forefinger, are usual and well-understood deaf-and-dumb gestures, denoting anything tiny, insignificant, and contemptible, it seems as though we had exaggerated and conventionalised a perfectly natural action so as to lose sight of its original meaning. There is a curious mention of this gesture by Strabo. At Anchiale, he writes, Aristobulus says there is a monument to Sardanapalus, and a stone statue of him as if snapping his fingers, and this inscription, in Assyrian letters: "Sardanapalus, the son of Anacyndaraxes, built in one day Anchiale and Tarsus. Eat, drink, play the rest is not worth that!" Shaking hands is not a universal sign of good-will. The Fijians, for example, smell and sniff at one another by way of salutation. The North American Indians rub each other's arms and breasts, as well as their own. In Polynesia, one strokes his face with the other's hand or foot. In New Zealand and Lapland, they press noses-which perhaps in some measure accounts for those organs being so flat. The Andaman Islanders salute by blowing into one another's hands; Charlevoix speaks of an Indian tribe on the Gulf of Mexico who blew into one another's ears; and M. Du Chaillu was blown upon-literally, and without any allusion to what his enemies here tried to do to him-by his friends in Africa. In East Africa, some tribes shake hands, but, Moslem-fashion, pressing the thumbs against one another as well. With regard to the position of our hands in prayer, Mr Tylor remarks that there is in it a confusion of two gestures, quite distinct in their origin. The upturned hands seem to expect some desired object to be thrown down, while, when clasped, they seem to ward off an impending blow; but the conventionalising process is carried to extremity when the hands clasped, or with the finger-tips set together, can be used not only to avert an injury-as seems their natural office-but also to ask for a benefit, which they can

not even catch hold of when it comes. There are a

number of well-known gestures difficult to explain, such as lolling out the tongue for contempt; and the sign known as 'taking a sight,' which was as common in the days of Rabelais as now. These are intelligible enough to all, although we know not why. Not the best evidence of the unity of the gesture-language is the ease and certainty with which any savage from any country can understand and make himself understood in a deaf and

dumb school. 'A native of Hawaii is taken to an American institution, and begins at once to talk in signs with the children, and to tell about his voyage and the country he came from. A Chinese, who had fallen into a state of melancholy from long want of society is quite revived by being taken to the same place, where he can talk in gestures to his heart's content. A deaf and dumb lad, named Collins, is taken to see some Laplanders, who were carried about to be exhibited, and though

frowning and undemonstrative to others, they immediately begin to speak about reindeers and elks, and smile on him very much.' A curious instance of the direct advantage of deaf and dumb establishments, is narrated by Kruse (himself a deaf-mute), as having occurred in the beginning of this century. An untaught deaf and dumb boy was found by the police wandering about Prague; they could make nothing of him, and so sent him to the Institution devoted to persons suffering under his misfortune, to be taught to tell his story. After a little education there, he managed to make it understood that his father had a mill; and of this mill, the furniture of the house, and the country round it, he gave a precise description. He gave a circumstantial account of his life there; how his mother and sister died, his father married again, his step-mother ill-treated him, and he ran away. He did not know his own name, nor what the mill was called, but he knew it lay away from Prague towards the morning. On inquiry being made, the boy's statement was confirmed. The police found his home, gave him his name, and secured his inheritance for him. Everybody who reads novels is acquainted with that wonderful scene in Monte Christo where the paralytic makes his will, without having the power of speech, or even of motion, with the exception of being able to wink his eyes. So late as 1864, it seems, a still more strange proceeding might have been witnessed in this country at Yateley, in the case of John Geale, yeoman, deaf, dumb, and unable to read or write. This man executed a will by putting his mark to it; but probate was at first refused by Sir J. P. Wilde, on the ground that there was no evidence of the testator's understanding and assenting to its provisions. At a later date, however, the motion was renewed, upon the following joint-affidavit of the widow and the attesting witnesses:

'The signs by which the deceased informed us that the will was the instrument which was to deal with his property upon his death, and that his wife was to have all his property after his death, in case she survived him, were in substance, so far as we are able to describe the same in writing, as follow: The said John Geale first pointed to the will itself, then he pointed to himself, and then he laid the side of his head upon the palm of his right hand with his eyes closed, and then lowered his right hand towards the ground, the palm of the same hand being upwards. These latter signs were the usual signs by which he referred to his own death or the decease of some one else. He then touched his trousers-pocket (which was the usual sign by which he referred to his money), then he looked all round, and simultaneously raised his arms with a sweeping motion all round (which were the usual signs by which he referred to all his property or all things). He then pointed to his wife, and afterwards touched the ring-finger of his left hand, and then placed his right arm across his left at the elbow; which latter signs were the usual signs by

which he referred to his wife.

then

"The signs by which the said testator informed us that his property was to go to his wife's daughter, in case his wife died in his lifetime, were as follow: He first referred to his property as before; touched himself, and pointed to the ring-finger of his left hand, and crossed his arm as before (which indicated his wife); he then Laid the side of his head on the palm of his right hand (with his eyes closed), which indicated her death; he then again,

Oct. 28, 1865.]

after pointing to his wife's daughter, who was present when the said will was executed, pointed to the ring-finger of his left hand, and then placed his right hand across his left arm at the elbow, as before. He then put his forefinger to his mouth, and immediately touched his breast, and moved his arms in such a manner as to indicate a child, which were his usual signs for indicating his wife's daughter, &c. Eventually, he made it appear that if his wife's daughter's husband survived her, the property was to revert to him. The contents of the will were then explained by motions and signs understood by all present, to the testator, and the said John Geale expressed his satisfaction. Upon this representation, Sir J. P. Wilde granted probate. Upon the whole, this will-making was certainly a more extraordinary proceeding than that described by Dumas, inasmuch as, though not paralysed, the testator was deaf, and therefore the dumb-show had to be carried on on both sides. It is evident, however, that if John Geale had been educated at a deaf and dumb asylum, the matter would have been greatly simplified and shortened.

BY THE AUTHOR OF LOST SIR MASSING BERD,' &c.
CHAPTER XXXVI.-BURIED IN THE CHALK.

WHEN Gideon Carr last looked down upon his victim from the Beacon Cliff, he saw him, as he thought, within a few seconds of death; and when, his attention being called elsewhere an instant, he no longer beheld him clinging to the bare white wall, he naturally imagined that he had fallen sheer upon the beach beneath. Such would have been the case with nineteen out of twenty men in a strait like that of Raymond Clyffard's; but years of voluntary hardship, such as sportsmen use, had made his sinews lithe and strong as steel; and running (where no horse could gallop) on the craggy fells in chase of the hill-fox, had made his limbs as supple as any bird-catcher's, who gains his bread at peril of his neck; and leaping from rock to rock, in many a foaming beck, to cheer his hounds upon the otter, had given him eye as true as his who, on the slender rope, appears to totter, only to deceive the gaping crowd below him. And though as brave as any who drew breath, Raymond abhorred to die, and longed to live; and even in that extremity, held on with his manly soul to Hope, as to the cliff with his strong fingers, and took his measures with cool brain upon the very brink of what seemed sure destruction.

I have said that on his right hand lay a sort of gutter, down which, indeed, most persons would have shot at once, but which to him, as he clung panting to the precipice, seemed to offer some salient points, some coignes of vantage, or, at all events, a preferable position to that which he at present occupied, exposed to any action of his mortal foe, a touch with whose walking-stick or finger-tip must needs have been his instant death-doom.

He was by no means so exhausted, or at least so near to utter collapse, as he seemed; and taking advantage of Gideon's momentary glance aside, he slid down along this almost perpendicular track as slowly as feet and hands could serve him to arrest the force of gravity. At last -that is, after such a second of time as might count against a year of ordinary life-he found that he had stopped himself. Above him hung

the frowning brow of the precipice, under which his sideways course had brought him, so that he was quite hidden from his enemy's sight. He had just possessed himself of that fact, when, from the depths below, came up the innumerable flocks of sea-fowl, as though to resent his intrusion into their almost aërial domains. The touch of a passing wing would have set him falling, like another Lucifer, through space: their hideous and unexpected din, which even alarmed his murderer, standing on the solid earth, shook his very soul within him, and closing his eyes, he waited for a moment, as though for the stroke of doom. Upon the sloping ledge on which he lay, never before had any creature bigger than a bird found foothold; a few more inches, and it terminated, as Raymond found out afterwards, without a rim, a crack, or nodosity-smooth, as though a carpenter's plane had levelled it. If he had known it then, even his iron nerves might have given way, or proved unequal to the task that lay before him. But when he dared to take his eyes from the slope to which he clung with foot and finger, he steadily turned them to the cliff alone, notwithstanding that there seemed some devil within him that prompted him to glance into the unfathomable gulf below, and so to perish. Then he perceived upon his right hand, and so close that he could touch it had he dared to move, a hollow in the chalk, large enough to contain his body, and which seemed to widen with its depth. To the mens sana, reasoning in its arm-chair, or indeed to any person who possessed the advantage of level ground, his getting into this hole would have seemed merely the exchange of a speedy death for one equally certain, although more lingering; but to him, stretched on that ledge of death, it appeared (so comparative is the estimate of what is good) a very haven of security-a consummation scarcely to be hoped for, so intense was his desire to attain it. Yes, that five-foot orifice in the otherwise unbroken wall of white seemed to him like the gate of heaven.

Slowly as a snail creeps, writhingly as a worm crawls, and trailing his whole body along the ground, like one in pain, Raymond dragged himself inch by inch into the hole. Then brain and muscle failed together, and he lay for a little like one dead-to all appearance as though he had fallen indeed through many a fathom of space upon that pebbly beach. When consciousness returned, he found himself in an excavation of considerable extent, the roof of which was sufficiently high to permit him to stand upright. From this dark recess the broad blue sky shewed brighter, and the sparkling sea seemed to smile more joyously than Raymond had ever seen them; the sea-birds' screams, which had not as yet by any means subsided, had now a note of gratulation for his ear; and thankfully his throbbing brow welcomed the clear breezes, the very softest of which had whispered to him but a few minutes back of Death. Then with the sense of present safety arose new fears, new needs. How was it possible that he should ever escape from such a prison? It was most unusual, he well knew, for vessels of any kind to venture close in-shore among the rocks and islets; and even if they did so, how was he to draw attention to himself in such a strange and unlooked-for place of durance?

Moreover, if even he should make people aware of his being in such a predicament, by what

means could he be extricated? Long before they could dig down to him through the solid rock, he would assuredly perish of hunger, unless the guillemots and gulls should bring him food, as the ravens nourished the prophet of old. As for any human creature coming by the way he came to his assistance, or as to himself attempting to escape by the same road, his brain reeled at the very thought of such a chance: he could see now the full extent of the peril to which he had been so lately exposed, and having seen it, his whole being revolted at the idea of tempting destruction a second time in the like manner. What he had heard of the wondrous agility of the bird-catchers in these parts did indeed cross his mind, but he well knew how the rock above him overhung his place of refuge, and felt, with a sinking of his noble heart, that even to those human spiders he was inaccessible.

What, however, most occupied Raymond's thoughts, and racked him with anxiety, was how to attract the attention of his fellow-creatures, not for his own sake, but that Mildred and her child might be warned in time of the murderous design of Gideon Carr. To foresee misfortune falling over our dearest ones, and to be powerless to avert it-there is no anguish bites like that! It is the very nightmare of reality-a curse that only falls, on most of us, thank Heaven, in dreams. How should he let her know her danger? Should he pencil it out a score of times upon the backs of certain letters that he happened to have with him, and trust them, like the Sibyl's leaves, to the winds, in hopes that one at least might flutter to the hand of a friend? Alas! the wind was blowing from off-shore, and forbade even that promiseless project. Or should he enclose a letter in the case of his hunting-watch, and drop it on the beach below, on the chance of its attracting the attention of some passer-by-where neither pleasure nor business brought a human creature from one month's end to another! Sick at heart with the conviction of the futility of any such schemes, Raymond turned wearily away from the mocking sunshine, and sought the gloom of the interior of the cave.

а

As he did so, it struck him for the first time how strange it was that there were no sea-birds, nor any traces of them, in a place so much better adapted for their purposes than the precarious ledges all about him, which were swarming with eggs and callow young. What could have kept out such tenants from so convenient an abode? No animal inimical to their kind could harbour in such a position, while eyrie of hawk or kestrel it certainly was not. His third footstep struck against something soft, which he carried with some difficulty, though without resistance, to the light, when this riddle in natural history received its solution.

The reason why the guillemots avoided the cave was, because it was the occasional resort of Man, or, at all events, bore tokens of his presence. What Raymond had dragged forth was a large bundle, neatly packed in sailcloth, and containing a large quantity of foreign lace. Half-a-dozen similar packages were arranged in a semicircle, at the far end of the cavern, along with two or three bales of rich and handsome shawls. These costly articles were not very useful to Raymond in his present position, except that, collectively, they formed a by no means despicable bed. Their chief value to him lay in the fact, that they needs must have a mortal

owner, who had probably some mechanical means of communicating with his property. It would have been a speculation of considerable importance to Raymond had his own interests been alone at stake, as to when this communication took place, with respect to his bodily sustenance for meat and drink are at least as much necessaries of life as Brussels lace and French shawls-but his anxiety concerning his wife and child swallowed up all other cares. Again and again, as he grew accustomed to the semi-darkness of his retreat, he minutely examined the walls and roof in search of some means of egress, by which he could make his way to Pampas Cottage, first to protect his dear ones, and then to avenge them; but all was solid chalk. Remembering, too, how far beneath the surface the cave was situated, and, in particular, how liable to observation any opening needs must be, made at the very top of the Beacon Down, he became satisfied that nothing of the sort existed. Secrecy was evidently the main consideration with those who stored their goods in such a place as that in which Raymond now found himself; nor had he any doubt but that he was in a hiding-place of the Freetraders, as they called themselves, persons in advance of their age, whom the less favoured part of the community stigmatised as smugglers. It was likely enough that some of his Sandby friends were part-owners of these very goods, which, indeed, were far too valuable to belong to any one individual. This, however (as it seemed to Raymond at the time) was a matter of very secondary consequence. Shawls and lace might belong to the breakers of the law or not; all that concerned him was, that those who claimed to be the owners might send to fetch them-although by what means he could not so much as guess-ere the dreadful morrow upon which hung the fate of Mildred and the child.

But the curtain of night descended slowly upon a sailless sea, and the hours of darkness wearily wore on without a sound, save the monotonous murmur of the wave, and the shrill scream of the herringgull and the kittiwake.

CHAPTER XXXVII.—THE SAUCY SALL

With the first dawn of morning, Raymond swept the sea with a little spy-glass, which he had put into his pocket the previous day for the use of Mr Stevens: there was one stately vessel visible that had just started upon the broad highway of the Atlantic for the Western World; but, the instru ment which told him that much, by shewing him the streaming stars and stripes, could bring the ship no nearer, save to his vision! The wind had partially lulled which had hurried the clouds in flocks athwart the moon all night, and the huge three-master made but little way: it was agony to the captive to watch her lessening hull, her masts dwindling inch by inch to a mere stick of canvas, then sinking altogether out of sight; and yet he well knew that though he had caught sight of her from the first, she could not have come within distance, by a mile, for any signal of his to be discerned, far less attended to.

A few hours later, but still very early in the morning, the Preventive boat from Marmouth passed on its way to Lucky Bay; but it, too, gave the outlying rocks and reefs so wide a berth, that all his signs and cries were unavailing. He had made bold to strip one of the precious bales of its sailcloth covering, to flutter flag-wise at the mouth of the cave; but at the

Journal

distance which the cutter kept, it could have shewn no larger than an albatross's wing. Moreover, unlike one placed upon the Down, or even on the beach, he was in a position where no mortal would think of looking for a human creature, or of taking any sign as made by man. Foot by foot, the cutter slowly drew away, for the wind was not in her favour, and tacked and tacked, though never near the shore, till presently the headland cut her off. Neither food nor drink had Raymond taken for twelve hours, yet the fever of his blood ran high; and like a wild beast in his lair, he paced his narrow prison, feeling desire for nothing save to be free. The day drew on, and with it drew the fatal time when Gideon was to put his murderous design into execution. The tide was almost at its lowest, which was the only period at which the Mermaid Cavern could be reached, and which Raymond himself had bidden his wife remember, appointing as it were with his own breath the hour of her doom.

He was about to lose the beloved partner of his life, the wife of his youth, still beautiful as a bride, the mother of his innocent child-nay, and that helpless child herself as well-at the hands of one already a murderer in intent, and whom neither beauty nor helplessness would move a hair's-breadth from his cruel purpose. Thoughts like these would have been enough to drive some men mad in a like position, or to tempt them to end such mental agony by one leap forth into the viewless air; but not so Raymond. If he could not save, he might still live to be avenged. Sooner or later, surely he would escape from his living grave; then, wifeless, childless, he would track the wretch who had made him desolate-ay, though the pursuit should lead him half round the world; and then, face to face, the victim risen from the tomb to confront his murderer-then, for a few brief minutes, he would taste of that nearest approach to Joy which would then be left to himRevenge! Foot to foot, hand to hand-and, better, without a weapon, for so the thing would last the longer-how he would woo that ruffian to the combat, and bear him backwards with tardy but relentless force, and squeeze the life out of his lying throat by slow degrees! He should come twice to life again, and die three times: once for himself, in payment for the time when Gideon mocked him in the very jaws of seeming death; and oncethe husband's breath came quick and short the while he thought upon it-once for Mildred; and once again for the child; and then his dark soul should wing its way to hell. Raymond Clyffard's veins swelled into knots, and his fingers dug into the flesh of his clenched hands the while he thought upon his great revenge. He had never been so near the fate of his race before, as when he brooded over that grim picture; the curse of the Clyffards almost came upon him. But as though he had felt that it was nigh, and knew that if it fell he would be powerless for the work of retribution, he beat it back as it were by force, and compelled his mind into other channels. He made it count the puffins as they stood in single file upon the ledges beneath, and mark how often the green-eyed haggard cormorant dived within the hour, and how long remained before he emerged from under water with draggled wing.

Towards noon, something occurred, however, which of itself demanded his attention. The little revenue-cutter once more rounded the point

upon its return-voyage to Marmouth. He forgot at the moment the arrangement which had been made by Lieutenant Carey for the transportation of Stevens to Mermaid Bay, and it was with a great cry of fury that through his glass he discerned the form, although not the features of his enemy. The boat this time seemed coming in quite close to shore, so near that his signals could not fail to be observed, and Raymond's heart had begun to beat with hope as well as passion, when suddenly her course was turned to seaward, and she made for the outlying pillar of chalk which was called the Dutchman. This change of tack at first originated in a natural disinclination on the part of Gideon Carr to approach the scene of his yesterday's crime, where the tide might by chance have left some ghastly evidence of it, or even the white cliff presented some damning stain; but as he continued to scan the spot through the boatswain's glass, he caught sight of Raymond's signal, which for the moment struck icy terror to his soul, and produced. the change which we have already described to have occurred in him; and finding the boatswain importunate for the possession of the glass, he purposely dropped it into the sea, although even through it, it is doubtful whether any other eye but his own could have perceived that which had so moved him. Nay, after a little thought, Gideon almost convinced himself that what he imagined he had beheld was merely the effect of morbid fancy; and as the cutter drew further and further from the land, so his wicked conscience grew less disturbed.

Then came the incident of Walter Dickson's craft being seen running close in-shore towards Sandby, and at once all his fears returned. If, by any miracle, Raymond Clyffard was really yet alive, and what he had seen had indeed been a signal of his supposed victim, intended as a demand for help, those on board the smuggling vessel could not fail presently to see it; hence Mr Stevens's passionate attempt to induce the crew of the revenue-cutter to arrest Dickson's course. We know that that appeal was futile, and how the cutter kept on her way, and carried Gideon Carr to his righteous doom in Mermaid Bay; but Raymond only knew that so far, at least, the murderer's plans had been successful, and that probably within that very hour both wife and child would perish through his cursed guile, choked by the pitiless tide. No mental torture could have been contrived by tyrant of old more poignant than that he was doomed to feel when he beheld in the far distance the cutter with its hateful burden at last standing in for the land. Scarcely, however, had he done so, when what should come swirling round the eastern promontory, through a passage, thought to be somewhat dangerous, between the mainland and a cluster of outlying fragments of it called 'the Stark,' but the lugger of Mr Walter Dickson, so close to the cliffs that one who stood upon the Beacon Down might have almost tossed a biscuit on to her slanting deck. On she came, noiseless and swift as a white phantom, steered by Mr Dickson himself, who, with half-shut eyes, lay dreamily in the stern-sheets, as though his slender craft were in no more danger than if she were coasting upon Ullswater.

"They're allus out upon some fool's errand or other,' observed young Richard Brock, who, with two others, made up the crew of the lugger, in continuation of some remarks called forth by their

meeting with the revenue-boat. If they had been off Mermaid Bay three nights ago, instead of now, they might ha' done a good stroke o' business.'

"They would not have got it cheap, whatever they got,' answered his father from the bow-thwarts, removing his pipe from his mouth in order to give due emphasis to an imprecation. Fifteen hundred pound-worth of shawls and laces Where the devil are you steering us to, Walter ? Port, man, port, or we shall be on Gull's Castle!' And, indeed, so near to the outlying chalk-rock of that name did the lugger pass, that as the old seaman gave his warning, he also kicked off his shoes in readiness for a swim.

'Look, mate, look!' cried Walter Dickson, scarcely conscious of the danger they had so narrowly escaped; there's somebody in Martin's Nest!'

The sensation which this exclamation produced upon the crew of the lugger was most extraordinary; they did not indeed start from their seats, as landsmen would have done, but each uttered a hasty ejaculation of wrath and wonder, as his looks followed the direction of the steersman's eyes to where Raymond could be plainly seen fluttering his signal, and gesticulating with the utmost vehemence. He was calling to them, too, at the top of his voice, and adjuring them to return at once to Mermaid Bay, and save his wife and child; but the distance was too great and the wind too violent to suffer them to catch a word he said, although they guessed by his motions that he was endeavouring to make himself heard.

Who is it?' cried old Will Brock savagely. 'What cursed fool can have risked going there in daylight, and without leave or licence, too, from those who have the best right to give it?'

'It ain't one of our folks at all," answered his son shading his eyes with his hand, as he scanned the shining cliff; 'it's Mr Raymond Hepburn, of the Cottage.'

"The worse for him,' muttered the old man furiously. Is there not a gun in the boat? Pass it here, boy. I am going to shoot a razor-billthat is all.'

'No, no; none of that,' interposed Dickson: we should only make bad worse by anything of that

sort.'

'Fifteen hundred pound-worth of shawls and laces,' exclaimed the other with passion; the best run Í ever made in my life; and all that you and I and the rest of us have in the world! Are you going to risk all that, Walter Dickson, for a friend of them blasted blue jackets? Give me the gun, I say.'

No, Will; you shall not do murder-nor even attempt it, for that fowling-piece would not carry half the distance. 'Tis clear that this man has not been seen by anybody as yet, or he would not be playing such frantic tricks yonder, in order to let us know he was there. How he ever got into Martin's Nest, I know not; but he is evidently alone. We have only him to deal with in the matter, and if we can keep him quiet'

"There is only one way that makes all safe,' interrupted the old man gloomily. Why, he will get half that's there for merely saying it is there.' Nay, nay; Mr Hepburn is a gentleman, and his wife has been good to my old woman,' answered Dickson warmly; and you have been my mate, Will, for these thirty years, and one of whom I should be sorry to have to say: "That man was hanged for murder." I have as large a stake in

yonder goods as any man here, and should be equally loath to lose it; but there is blood enough on that Beacon Cliff already?'

'Only a coast-guardsman,' muttered one of the crew who had not yet spoken.

'Very true, Elliot,' returned Dickson quietly; 'although, let me tell you, it does not become one of your stock to talk like that. In the heat of a fight, one may chance to get blood upon one's hands, and hardly know how it came there. But pushing folks over precipices-ay, you may frown and swear, too, for all I care-or shooting them in cold blood, while they 're asking us for help, like this one-such things are not to my taste, nor do I believe that good can come of them.'

"Then what do you propose to do, Master Clearconscience?' inquired Brock sullenly. 'Is Lieutenant Carey and his friend, this Mr Hepburn, to go shares together in our property?'

A hoarse murmur of rage and dissatisfaction came from the throats of the two sailors, who had themselves no little interest in the proceeds of the late 'run,' and whom this reference to the intimacy between the commander of the coast-guard and the present subject of conversation excited to fury.

'I will go bail that no one here suffers any loss,' replied Walter Dickson resolutely. 'The Saucy Sall is worth something, and I have a little money at bank, which, in case of the worst, shall be at your service. There-does that suit you, mates?'

All reluctantly allowed that under these circumstances, so far as they were concerned, they had certainly no further right to complain, but, at the same time, they avowed their disinclination to accept so generous an offer.

'No, no,' said Brock, with a gleam of kindly feeling in his hard gray eyes; we ain't a-going to cut our cable from you, old fellow. We're in a heavy sea; but if we pull together with a will, we may perhaps keep our shirt-collars dry yet.'

"That's well said, mate,' answered Dickson cheerily. 'Now, my plan is this-to get one of our people to visit the Martin's Nest this very night. If I was as lissom as I used to be'

'I will go,' interrupted young Richard Brock sententiously. There will be moon enough for that.'

'You're a good fellow,' replied Dickson, with much heartiness; and your father is proud of you, for all that he looks like a cormorant who has just dropped a fish. You shall visit the poor gentleman, my lad, and explain matters. It will be hard upon him as well upon us, we may be sure; but you must make him see the necessity of being a prisoner for some time to come at least, and more than that, of his remaining quiet, so that nobody but ourselves may know where he is. If the Martin's Nest was discovered, even without its golden eggs, it would be a heavy blow to the Good Cause.'

'Ay, that it would,' murmured the crew as with one voice, but no longer with peevish sullenness; for their confidence in Walter Dickson was great; and now that a little time had been allowed for reflection, even old Will Brock confessed to himself that his friend's counsel had been wiser than his own, as well as more humane.

Throughout the period of this conversation, the lugger had been making short tacks in front of the Beacon Cliff, since it would have been dangerous to bring her up in such an anchorage; as for landing, it was not to be thought of at that place; nor if it