tely resumed his place at the helm, and once more the
schooner was running through the water, almost gunwale under, towards
the place where the Wasp had been wrecked.

Without uttering a word of explanation, and apparently forgetful of
every one near him, the pirate continued during the remainder of that
night to steer the Foam out and in among the roaring breakers, as if he
were trying how near he could venture to the jaws of destruction without
actually plunging into them. As the night wore on the sky cleared up,
and the scene of foaming desolation that was presented by the breakers
in the midst of which they flew, was almost enough to appal the stoutest
heart.

The crew looked on in moody silence. They knew that their lives were
imperiled; but they felt that they had no resource! No one dared to
address the silent, stern man who stood like an iron statue at the helm
the whole of that night. Towards morning, he steered out from among the
dangerous coral reefs, and ran south straight before the wind.

Then Corrie summoned up courage, and, going aft to Gascoyne, looked up
in his face and said:

"You're searching for Henry, I think?"

"Yes, boy, I am," answered the pirate, and a gleam of kindliness crossed
his face for a moment; but it was quickly chased away by a look of deep
anxiety, and Corrie retired.

Now that the danger of the night was over, all the people on board
became anxious to save Henry, or ascertain his fate; but although they
searched the ocean far and wide, they saw not a vestige of him or of the
Wasp. During this period Gascoyne acted like a bewildered man. He never
quitted the helm night or day. He only ate a biscuit now and then when
it was brought to him, and he did not answer when he was spoken to.

Every one felt sympathy with the man who seemed to mourn so deeply for
the lost youth.

At last Montague went up to him and said, in a gentle voice: "I fear
that Henry is gone."

Gascoyne started as if a sword had pierced him. For one moment he looked
fiercely in the young captain's face; then an expression of the deepest
sadness overspread his countenance as he said: "Do you think there is no
hope?"

"None," said Montague. "I grieve to give pain to one who seems to have
been an intimate friend of the lad."

"He was the son of my oldest and best friend. What would you advise, Mr.
Montague?"

"I think--that is to say, don't _you_ think--that it would be as well to
put about now?"

Gascoy