de, and our
next step was to make her as unlike the _Wasp_ or the _Queen of
Sheba_ as possible. This we did by lengthening her and altering her
rig. But it proved useless, as I had always feared it would.
The day after we sailed from Malaga, a Spanish-speaking seaman, whom
we had hired there as extra hand, came aft as if to speak to my
husband (who stood at the wheel), and, halting a pace or two from
him, lifted a revolver, called him by name, and shot him dead.
Before he could turn, my son had knocked him senseless, and in
another minute had tumbled him overboard. We buried my husband
in the sea, next day. We held on, we two alone, past Gibraltar--
I steering and my son handling all the sails--and ran up for Cadiz.
There we made deposition of our losses, inventing a story to account
for them, and my son took the train for Paris, for we knew that our
enemies had tracked the yacht, and there would be no escape for him
if he clung to her. I waited for six days, and then engaged a crew
and worked the yacht back to F--. I have never since set eyes on my
son; but he is alive, and his hiding is known to myself and to one
man only--a member of the brotherhood, who surprised the secret.
To keep that man silent I spent all my remaining money; to quiet him
I had to sell the yacht; and now that money, too, is gone, and I am
dying in a workhouse. God help my son now! I deceived you, and yet
I think I did you no great wrong. The yacht I sold you was my own,
and she was worth the money. The figures on the beam were cut there
by my husband before we reached Vigo, to make the yacht correspond
with the _Wasp's_ certificate. If I have wronged you, I implore
your pardon.--Yours truly,

"CATHERINE BLAKE."

Well, that is the end of the story. It does not, I am aware, quite
account for the figure I saw standing by the _Siren's_ wheel. As for
the _Wasp_, she has long since rotted to pieces on the waters of the
Mersey. But the question is, Have I a right to sell the _Siren?_
I certainly have a right to keep her, for she is mine, sold to me in due
form by her rightful owner, and honestly paid for. But then I don't
want to keep her!

PARSON JACK'S FORTUNE.

I.

From Langona church tower you see nothing of the Atlantic but a wedge
between two cliffs of a sandy creek. The cotta