afford him over the alternative of being compelled to touch at
some port, and I had little doubt that my surmise as to his intentions
would prove correct. At all events, his determination to speak the
barque was evident, and I began to cast about for some means whereby the
encounter might be utilised to the advantage of Miss Onslow and myself.

There were two or three ways in which we might possibly be benefited by
the incident, if only I could contrive to establish private
communication with the skipper of the stranger. In the first place, if
the barque happened to be British--of which, however, I had my doubts--I
might make her skipper acquainted with all the circumstances relating to
the brig's seizure, and appeal to him to compel the Irishman and his
gang--by force, if necessary--to surrender Miss Onslow and myself. Or,
if that should prove impossible, I might perhaps be able to secure Miss
Onslow's transfer to the stranger, when--her safety having been
assured--it would matter comparatively little what happened to myself.
Or--in the event of both these schemes failing--I might possibly succeed
in privately arranging with the skipper to acquaint the authorities with
our predicament and request them to take the necessary steps to effect
our rescue.

One or another of these plans I might perhaps succeed in putting into
effect, provided that the Irishman should prove careless and neglectful
enough to permit of my communicating with the skipper of the barque.
But would he be so? I very much doubted it. Yet I could but try; and
if, as I anticipated, I should find it impossible to obtain private
speech with the skipper of the barque, I might still be able to
surreptitiously convey to him a letter which would serve my purpose
quite as well.

Meditating thus, I made my way below to the brig's snug little cabin,
with the intention of forthwith inditing my epistle, and there I found
Miss Onslow, seated upon one of the lockers, ostensibly engaged in
reading, but with her beautiful eyes fixed upon the gently-swaying lamp
that hung in the skylight, with a dreamy, absent look in them that
showed her thoughts to be far away.

"Do you happen to know whether the steward is in his pantry, Miss.
Onslow?" I asked, with a glance in the direction of the apartment
named, as I entered the cabin.

"No; he is not there; he went on deck nearly an hour ago," she replied.
"Do you want anything, Mr Conyers?"

"Nothing more at presen