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"Plase God," murmured Harry, "but ut's meself 'll be glad to lave this awful spot; lead on, Billy." "Oh, say no more, sir, about that. I am pleased with the idea of a Naval officer being in charge of my ship." "Please sir, don't whip her," he said, pleadingly. "I'll own up. It was me that put the sulphur in the stove.".

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He knew why. She had told him. God, Destiny, Fate, had come between her and the man she loved. The man had lost more than life in playing the part of a man. He was blind! Behind him were only memories that could not be buried. Before him only darkness, bleakness, despair. And he had done an heroic thing in giving her up. Helpless, powerless to support her, what else was there for him to do? So, in his love for her, he had dug a grave and in it buried Hope and all that God in His wise ordinance had allowed him to live and feel. And they had kissed and parted, kneeling beside this grave, cold lips to cold lips, broken heart to broken heart. It was the kiss on the cross which each must carry. "I believe," said the Admiral, casting his eyes at the window, "that it blows a pretty little off-shore breeze from the north. The sea is rippled by it into a dark blue, and your ship will sail into it with almost square yards." The old gentleman spoke with sternness, and held his eyes fastened upon his son, who cried: "Oh sir, I am not such a fool as to run any risks with this stroke of fortune." "Ma," cried Billy, "whatever is the matter?".