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That night as he was undressing for bed Mrs. Wilson came softly up the stairs, a tumbler half filled with a smoky liquid in one hand, a black strap in the other. "The rig of the vessel," said Captain Acton,[Pg 63] "is unusual. She is called a barque. The idea of fore and aft canvas only upon the mizzen-mast is French. I am told that rig is very handy in stays. Do you know the ship, sir?" Maurice scratched his head thoughtfully. "Say, you know a lot about snakes an' things, don't you?" he said admiringly..

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"Desolation!" he murmured, "desolation! the natural home of ignorance." On this Captain Acton and his friend went on deck. The schooner was travelling three or four knots one way, and the stranger was heading directly for her at some small pace, so that the speed of the two vessels being combined, the sail might be expected to show a clear hull; which she did, and with the aid of their telescopes, Captain Acton and Sir William confirmed the conjecture of Captain Weaver. She was either a little brig or a brigantine—her after-sails were concealed; her burden was very small. The dusty and rusty complexion of her canvas neutralised the brilliance which most ships' sails shine with when the silver glory of the morning sun pours strong upon them. By half-past nine, three bells by the schooner's clock, the stranger was on the larboard-bow with her main topsail to the mast, and so close that it seemed almost possible to distinguish the faces of her people. She sighed; the distress of her heart saddened her face with a meaning as of tears. "But you mustn't go without having a cup of tea and a bite to eat," she protested. "Please sit down and I'll have it ready in a minute.".