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"No, sir, we have sighted nothing of that sort.",

October's second morning dawned sullen and grey, with a chill wind banking slate-hued clouds in the sky. Deacon Ringold, taking the short cut across the stubble-fields to Wilson's, shivered as he glanced back at the black lines his feet had cut through the crisp white frost, and decided to put on his woolen underclothes right away. The deacon had important and disturbing news to convey to his neighbor and had started out early to seek his counsel.,

"But," said Captain Acton, who was perhaps helped to a display of comparative composure of mind by the Admiral's reception of the news, "though if possible we shall sail to-morrow evening or the following day in pursuit, my opinion is, sir, that even if Mr Lawrence were left to his own shifts he would never be able to compass his undertaking. First of all, he has a highly respectable man, who has proved a good servant to me, to deal with in his mate. Will Mr Eagle permit him to carry the Minorca to Rio? Will the crew have nothing to say? What will be thought by all hands when it gets about that my daughter is on board, a prisoner in confinement in the cabin? And is my daughter so enamoured of Mr Lawrence that because he has placed her in a highly equivocal[Pg 222] situation she will be willing to marry him, or to have anything to say to him on their arrival at Rio?",

"Sure," said Maurice. "She'll likely hold somethin' back fer me, anyway. Don't ferget to keep a good fire on, Anse," he admonished, as he followed Billy outside.

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A few minutes later Billy tumbled into the blind. "Quick," he cried, as he drew on his coat. "They're nigh done fer. We've gotta keep 'em movin'. Good! I see you've heated the tea; I'll jest take it along. We'll leave gun an' decoys right here with Moll to watch 'em, 'cause we're likely to have our hands full. Are you ready, teacher?",

He tried to speak, tried to pronounce her name, but the effort was a failure. All he could do was to drink in her perfect loveliness. More than ever like an angel she looked, standing all in white in the blue-dark gloom of the grove, her hair glowing like a halo above the deep pools of her eyes.,

"Don't you have nuthin' to do with it, Ma!" he cried. "That Croaker's a witch crow, that's what he is! He's tryin' to tempt you with gold!",

Mr Greyquill stood up. His eyes had a peculiar light in them, a faint flush was painted on each cheek, and seemed to make whiter yet the whiteness of his brows and his hair.