rrupted the eager,
tremulous voice of Mrs Wyllys. "O Merton! why these questions? Has my
yearning been prophetic? Does nature give so mysterious a warning of its
claim!"

"Hush, dearest Madam! your thoughts wander from probabilities, and my
faculties become confused.--'Ark, of Lynnhaven,' was the name of an estate
in the islands, belonging to a near and dear friend, and it was the place
where I received, and whence I sent to the main, the precious trust you
confided to my care. But"----

"Say on!" exclaimed the lady, rushing madly in front of Wilder, and
seizing the cord which, a moment before, had been tightened nearly to his
destruction stripping it from his throat, with a sort of supernatural
dexterity: "It was not, then, the name of a ship?"

"A ship! surely not. But what mean these hopes?--these fears?"

"The collar? the collar? speak; what of that collar?"

"It means no great things, now, my Lady," returned Fid, very coolly
placing himself in the same condition as Wilder, by profiting by the
liberty of his arms, and loosening his own neck from the halter,
notwithstanding a movement made by some of the people to prevent it, which
was, however, staid by a look from their leader's eyes. "I will first cast
loose this here rope; seeing that it is neither decent, nor safe, for an
ignorant man, like me, to enter into such unknown navigation, a-head of
his officer. The collar was just the necklace of the dog, which is here to
be seen on the arm of poor Guinea, who was, in most respects, a man for
whose equal one might long look in vain."

"Read it," said the governess, a film passing before her own eyes; "read
it," she added, motioning, with a quivering hand, to the divine to peruse
the inscription, that was distinctly legible on the plate of brass.

"Holy Dispenser of good! what is this I see? 'Neptune, the property of
Paul de Lacey!'"

A loud cry burst from the lips of the governess; her hands were clasped
one single instant upward, in that thanksgiving which oppressed her soul,
and then, as recollection returned, Wilder was pressed fondly, frantickly
to her bosom, while her voice was neard to say, in the piercing tones of
all-powerful nature,--

"My child! my child!--You will not--cannot--dare not, rob a long-stricken
and bereaved mother of her offspring. Give me back my son, my noble son!
and I will weary Heaven with prayers in your behalf. Ye are brave, and
cannot be deaf to mercy. Ye are men, who have live