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Captain Acton was silent. He was astonished. He had never observed his daughter as Aunt Caroline did. He was wanting in feminine sagacity where the heart is concerned. He[Pg 385] saw that if his daughter was not in love with Mr Lawrence, she was dangerously near that passion; she seemed to him to have been transformed into a sweetheart by usage which would have made the heart of most young women fierce with hate and horror. She was under a spell which she thought to break by the practice of an inherited art, as miraculous in effect as it had been unsuspected in being, and she had left her kidnapper seemingly as enamoured of him as though his behaviour from the beginning had been strictly honourable and chivalrous, an additament to the passion which his gallant record, his lofty bearing, and his handsome looks had inspired in her.,

"By what, my dear?",

Billy pursed up his lips in thought. "Say!" he cried, "I've got it. You go on back there where you played possum, an' wait fer Anse. When he comes he's goin' to beg a favor of you, sure as shootin'. He played a dirty trick on me not long ago an' he's been keepin' out of my way ever since. Lied to me so's to get me to thrash a feller that licked him. I'll tell you all about it later. Anse is goin' to ask you to square it with me; he's jest that kind. You promise to get him off this time if he goes away an' leaves you by yourself. Then you come back here, see?",

Billy spit out the fox-tail. "Where's this feller Scroggie now?" he asked, in a business-like tone.

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Billy gazed at him wonderingly. "How did you know I was thinkin' of him?" he asked.,

Captain Acton was silent for a few moments. He then said: "My dear friend, have you reflected upon all that your son's return to England must signify to him?",

"I should like," said the Admiral, "to have met Nelson. In all my going a-fishing I never fell in his way.",

He endeavoured to recollect himself that, by calming his terrors his memory might better serve him. Urgent alarms often induce vain hopes which we should laugh at in the cool mood. He believed he might have put that letter down in his bedroom, and perfectly well knowing that he had not done so, and yet coaxed by a will-o'-the-wisp hope, he ransacked the room as though he knew that in it was to be found a gold piece of value whose discovery demanded a careful search only. What was certain in his mind was that that letter was in his pocket when he walked that morning to visit the Minorca. He remembered withdrawing it from his pocket, but in what part of the walk he knew not, and re-perusing a portion of it to refresh his memory. He tried to find comfort in the recollection that the letter bore no address and no signature. But a thundercloud of horror came down on this feeble streak of sunshine when he recalled the damning, incriminating contents of that sheet[Pg 152] which he had scrawled in pencil at "The Swan Inn." Whoever found it would know that Mr Lawrence, and Mr Lawrence alone, had written it, and this, too, irrespective of the handwriting.