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The vanquished one nodded. He had not as yet recovered his breath sufficiently to speak. When at last he was able to draw a full breath, he said: "Say, you trimmed me all right, all right.",

They were sailing in bright latitudes where the weather is warm, where often the sea rolls in a languid silken swell like the gentle heavings of a carpet of the sheen of satin under-blown, where the stars shine with brilliance and the moon at her full has an almost sun-like power. And very fortunately the two ships were favoured with fine and sparkling days vital with favourable winds. Throughout the daylight hours the two ships held each other steadily in view, the schooner under slightly reduced canvas, and the frigate under a press, and at night each signalled her place by rockets discharged at intervals, so that always when day broke the brace of pursuing structures were found to be either abreast, or almost so, each sunk from the sight of the other to the line of her bulwarks.,

"'I'm not sure that I'll go back to the States,' he said, 'it all depends; besides,' says he, 'my boy and girl like this place and the people and I reckon I've got enough money to live wherever I like.',

"And this is the way that a look-out is to be kept aboard this ship," said Mr Lawrence with a biting insolence of scorn, and that sort of pity which enrages more than kicks or execrations. "If you don't hold to the instructions you receive from me, sir, you'll[Pg 295] soon find yourself eating black bread in a French dungeon with straw from a sty for a bed."

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The Admiral was violently agitated. He exclaimed in broken tones: "If this is your decision I implore you to reconsider it. You, sir, who are the soul of benevolence would not act with heartless cruelty towards an old friend, but heartlessly cruel you must prove to me if, with the opportunity which this schooner provides and with the Minorca within a few hours' reach, you suffer my worthless, ungrateful son to make away with your property, and render me hopeless and helpless as a man who has no means to repay you the loss you must sustain.",

"Me singing!" quavered old John, with a voice of amazement. "Why, I ha'nt sung this twenty year past.",

"Oh gollies!" gasped Anson. "What's he huntin' copperheads fer, Bill?",

Miss Lucy Acton sat with her eyes veiled by downcast lids fixed in a stare as lifeless as the dead upon her hands, which lay clasped in her lap. So motionless was she, you would have said she slept. Much of the lovely bloom that always gave to her lineaments a choice sweetness was absent, but not the less[Pg 281] did as much of her face as was visible express its refined and delicate beauty.