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"And fer why should I tell Spencer, thin?" Harry asked, his blood-shot eyes wide in wonder. "Nobuddy told me where to find ut, did they?",

"Are you not afraid to take the command of a ship, sir?" enquired Miss Acton, who continued to peer at Mr Lawrence over her glasses.,

"Nobody could have been more agreeable, sir," said Miss Acton. "He has a sweet, strong voice, and sings with great feeling.",

Billy looked his relief. "I don't think I'm quite as bad as I used to be," he said. "Why say, there was a time when you couldn't get me inside that grove. But lately I've been feelin' different about it. I don't s'pose there re'lly is such a thing as a ghost, is there?"

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He approached Miss Acton's door. Lucy was seated on a locker under a window, three of which embellished the stern of the Minorca. The ocean as the ship lightly depressed her stern, was visible through this window, a blue field decked with flowers of foam that rose and sank. The large glazed space filled the cabin with light, which trembled with the pulse of the white wake streaming fan-wise, and with the shivering of the sunlight into splinters of diamond brilliance by the fretful motions of the breeze-brushed waters.,

"If your son has sailed," said Captain Acton, with a face charged with perplexity, doubt, irritation, and astonishment, "he had no authority to do so. What has caused him to take this step? Surely as a sailor who has served the State, he, before all masters in the Merchant Service, ought to understand the meaning of the word of command.",

"I assure you, sir," said Mr Lawrence, with a smile which added a freshness to his beauty by that light, "that I have no idea of taking command of your ship with a view to a French prison.",

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.