t to sea once more. Nor did Barnaby True ever set eyes
upon those beings again, nor did anyone else that I ever heard tell of.

It was nigh midnight when they made Mr. Hartright's wharf at the foot of
Wall Street, and so the streets were all dark and silent and deserted as
they walked up to Barnaby's home.

You may conceive of the wonder and amazement of Barnaby's dear
stepfather when, clad in a dressing gown and carrying a lighted candle
in his hand, he unlocked and unbarred the door, and so saw who it
was had aroused him at such an hour of the night, and the young and
beautiful lady whom Barnaby had fetched with him.

The first thought of the good man was that the Belle Helen had come into
port; nor did Barnaby undeceive him as he led the way into the house,
but waited until they were all safe and sound in privily together before
he should unfold his strange and wonderful story.

"This was left for you by two foreign sailors this afternoon, Barnaby,"
the good old man said, as he led the way through the hall, holding up
the candle at the same time, so that Barnaby might see an object that
stood against the wainscoting by the door of the dining room.

Nor could Barnaby refrain from crying out with amazement when he saw
that it was one of the two chests of treasure that Sir John Malyoe had
fetched from Jamaica, and which the pirates had taken from the Belle
Helen. As for Mr. Hartright, he guessed no more what was in it than the
man in the moon.

The next day but one brought the Belle Helen herself into port, with the
terrible news not only of having been attacked at night by pirates, but
also that Sir John Malyoe was dead. For whether it was the sudden shock
of the sight of his old captain's face--whom he himself had murdered
and thought dead and buried--flashing so out against the darkness, or
whether it was the strain of passion that overset his brains, certain
it is that when the pirates left the Belle Helen, carrying with them the
young lady and Barnaby and the traveling trunks, those left aboard
the Belle Helen found Sir John Malyoe lying in a fit upon the floor,
frothing at the mouth and black in the face, as though he had been
choked, and so took him away to his berth, where, the next morning about
ten o'clock, he died, without once having opened his eyes or spoken a
single word.

As for the villain manservant, no one ever saw him afterward; though
whether he jumped overboard, or whether the pirates who so