it, and withdrew his gaze from
the remains of his burning vessel to look on the living features of his
child.

"Father! you frighten me by those wild passions--and this wild place!
let us go from it, and be at peace; poor Robin is your true friend,
father. Be friends with him."

"You speak as a woman, a young weak woman, Barbara," replied the
Skipper, evincing his returning interest in present objects by passing
his arm round his daughter, so as to support her on his bosom. "Look
out, girl, and say what you see."

"Father, huge masses of burning wood, floating over the ocean, and borne
to other shores by the rising breeze."

"And know you what that burning wood was scarce a minute since?"

"Father--no."

"Those blazing masses were once the Fire-fly--my own ship--my own ship!"

"And Robin----?"

"Has been the means of its destruction."

"Has he?" Barbara paused after she had so exclaimed, and then, clasping
her hands, raised them upwards as she continued, "a blessing, a thousand
blessings on him! for what he does is ever good, and full of wisdom. Ah!
now I see it all: he destroyed the bad vessel that you, dear father,
might no more to sea; but stay on shore with us--with _me_, I would have
said--" she added, hiding, as she spoke, her face on her father's
shoulder.

Five or six of the crew had clambered up the cliff, and clustered round
their Skipper. Roupall, Springall, and the Jewess were close to Barbara,
and Robin stood exactly on the spot where Dalton's rage had left
him--one foot on the edge of the crumbling cliff, his long arms
enwreathing his chest.

The red glare had faded from the waters, the sea-birds were settling in
their nests, but the government-ships were alive with lights, and,
suddenly bursting through the night, came the shrill blast of a trumpet
from Cecil Place. It called Robin Hays into activity, and, while the men
were looking on each other, he advanced and spoke.

"Hugh Dalton, the ship was yours, and yours alone, and to you the
parchment which Springall holds accounts for its destruction; that
destruction, Captain, ought to prove one thing, and one thing only--that
I loved you better than the Fire-fly. Both could not have been
preserved. You have treated me as a dog, to whom you would have given a
dog's death; and I shall not forget it."

"Robin!" exclaimed a small soft voice.

"I cannot forget it," repeated the Ranger; and then the voice again
said, "Robin," in a tone of such