as your sister is, to hear these things of you is a greater trial
than the thought of parting with her so soon. Have you forgotten your
promises to me? Have you forgotten----"

Frank could read no more. He gnashed his teeth together, and held them
tight, like a person struggling against some insupportable pain. His
sister so ill? That was Hattie. He saw the name written farther back. "He
says,"--"according to his account,"--who was it sending home such stories
about him? He glanced up the page, until his eye fell upon the name.

"_John Winch_----"

O, but this was too much! To be accused of swearing by _him_! To be
charged with stealing by one who went with him to steal, and did not,
only because he was a coward! Frank felt an impulse to fall instantly
upon that wretched youth, and choke the unmanly life out of him. John
was at that moment writing a letter under the lantern, probably filling
it with more tales about him;--and couldn't he tell some great ones
now!--grinning, too, as he wrote; quite unaware what a tiger was
watching him, athirst for his blood.

Yes. Winch had got letters to-day, and, learning what a lively sensation
his stories of Frank created, had set to work to furnish the sequel to
them; giving interesting particulars up to latest dates.

N. B. He was writing on the head of Frank's drum, which he had borrowed
for the purpose. He had written his previous letters on the same. It was
a good joke, he thought, to get the boy he was abusing to contribute some
needful assistance towards the work; it added a flavor to treachery. But
Frank did not so much enjoy the pleasantry. He was wild to be beating the
tattoo, not on the said drum, but on the head of the rogue who was
writing on the drum, and with his fist for drumsticks.

But he reflected, "I shall only be getting deeper into trouble, if I
pitch into him. Besides, he is a good deal bigger than I,"--a powerful
argument in favor of forbearance. "I'll wait; but I'll be revenged on him
some way."

Little did he know--and as little did Winch surmise--how that revenge was
to be accomplished. But it was to be, and soon.

For the present, Frank had other things to think of. He read of Hattie's
fading away; of her love for him; and the tender messages she
sent,--perhaps the last she would ever send to him. And he remembered his
wonderful vision of her that evening. And tears came to cool and soften
his heart.

And so we quit him for the nig