and down and
down, into void and bottomless chaos, where solid earth was none--type of
the drunkard's moral state, where virtue has lost its foot-hold, and
there is no firm ground of self-respect, and conscience is a loosened
ledge toppling treacherously, and there is no steady hope to stay his
horrible whirling and sinking. Stupefaction became sleep; with sleep
inebriation passed; and Frank awoke to misery.

It was evening. The boys were playing cards again by the light of the
ship's lantern. The noise and the glimmer reached Frank in his berth, and
called him back to time and space and memory. He remembered his watch,
his insolent reply to his old friend Sinjin, the scene in the hold of the
vessel, the sweet-tasting stuff, and the dizziness, a strange ladder
somewhere which he had either climbed or dreamed of climbing; and he
thought of his mother and sisters with a pang like the sting of a
scorpion. He could bear any thing but that.

He got up, determined not to let vain regrets torment him. He shut out
from his mind those pure images of home, the presence of which was
maddening to him. Having stepped so deep into guilt, he would not, he
could not, turn back. For Frank carried even into his vices that
steadiness of resolution which distinguishes such natures from those of
the Jack Winch stamp, wavering and fickle alike in good and ill. He
possessed that perseverance and purpose which go to form either the best
and noblest men, or, turned to evil, the most hardy and efficient
villains. Frank was no milksop.

"O, I'm all right," said he, with a reckless laugh, in reply to his
comrades' bantering. "Give me a chance there--can't you?"

For he was bent on winning back his watch. It seemed that nothing short
of the impossible could turn him aside from that intent. The players made
room for him, and he prepared his counters, and took up his cards.

"What do you do, Frank?" was asked impatiently; all were waiting for him.

What ailed the boy? He held his cards, but he was not looking at them.
His eyes were not on the board, nor on his companions, nor on any object
there. But he was staring with a pallid, intense expression--at
something. There were anguish, and alarm, and yearning affection in his
look. His hair was disordered, his countenance was white and amazed; his
comrades were astonished as they watched him.

"What's the matter, Frank? what's the matter?"

Their importunity brought him to himself.

"Did you s