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Sir William Lawrence was very grave, his looks were stern, almost fierce, as he entered the boat. Captain Acton was cool and thoughtful. His brow was knitted; his lips were set. His demeanour was that of a self-possessed man confronted by a condition of things rendered complex by features extraneous to the main trouble or difficulty, yet confounding it by their existence. Lucy watched the scene from the after-part of the Aurora's quarterdeck. She stood alone in that part of the ship leaning upon the rail, and once or twice her gaze followed the boat that was bearing her father and the Admiral to the Minorca; but it was chiefly directed at the[Pg 434] barque whose length she explored for a sight of the tall figure whom she had immediately recognised as Mr Lawrence, whilst Sir William was surveying his son through his glass. She mused upon the amazing passage of her life that had filled the interval between the time of her going on board yonder ship, believing her father to be lying dangerously injured in her, down to the hour of her transference to the Whitby brig. Never was her pensive beauty more fascinating than now, whilst her soft dark eyes brooded upon the ship that had been her floating prison. What would Mr Lawrence say or think when he came to understand that her madness was feigned, a dramatic stratagem to obtain liberty and restoration? How would he—but how could he—face his father whom he had degraded, and her father whom he had robbed and wronged?,

"I was too much agitated to reflect, papa," Lucy answered. "It seemed so natural—so reasonable, and I hastened to the ship, in the belief that you were lying in her seriously hurt.",

She ran to the side of what may be called the litter, and looked down upon the face that rested upon a bolster. She clasped her hands. She compressed her lips. No exclamation escaped her, but one saw in her beautiful face the expression of that deep pity which is ever the attendant of love where sorrow is or suffering.,

Billy hung the lantern on the door and bent above the grovelling Harry. "Hey you," he said, giving the old man's shoulder a shake, "get up an' come out'a here; I'm not the devil, I'm Billy."

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She turned her eyes into that remote part of the sea on the quarter where the Louisa Ann[Pg 387] hung transformed by distance and sunshine into a star of day. So marvellous is the magic wrought by the wand of the deep in its passage over even such shapeless enormities as the Whitby brig.,

"It's a good fri'nd ye've been t' me, Caleb," he said gratefully, as he lifted the jug and held it between his knees. "It's do widout me dhrink I cannot. Ut an' me whistle are me only gleams av sunlight in the gloom. I'll be after takin' a little flash of the light now, if ut's no objection ye have, for ut's long dhry I've been." He lifted the jug and took a long draught of its fiery contents.,

It was easily seen that the poor old man was deeply in earnest and was to be speedily distressed. It was an affecting exhibition of mental decay, and rough as the company were, they had the good taste to change the subject.,

She set the glass on the little table and let the strap slip to the floor. She put her hands on his shoulders and turned him about so that the light fell full on his face. She saw that it was really pale—yes, and wistful. Anse had told her about having seen Billy kiss the pup and cry over it. Now a lump came into her throat as she looked into the grey, unwavering eyes. With a sob, she threw her arms about his neck and drew him close to her. Billy patted her shoulder and let her cry. He could not guess her reason for it, but for that matter he could not understand why he was crying too, unless indeed it was his great and worshipful love still working overtime.