recollection of the weird
story I had just heard fresh in my memory, I was conscious of a cold
shiver, which all the strength of the August sunshine, bathing the
moorland in a glow of gold, was quite unable to lessen or to drive
away.

THE WRECK OF THE _MAY QUEEN_.

BY ALICE F. JACKSON.

There was something in the air. Something ominous. A whisper of which we
heard only the rustle, as it were--nothing of the words; but when one is
on the bosom of the deep--hundreds of miles from land--in the middle of
the Pacific Ocean--ominous whispers are, to say the least of it, a
trifle disconcerting.

"What is it?" whispered Sylvia.

"I don't know," I said.

"Anything wrong with the ship?"

But I could only shrug my shoulders.

Sylvia said, "Let us ask Dr. Atherton."

So we did. But Dr. Atherton only smiled.

"There was something behind that smile of his," said Sylvia,
suspiciously. "As if we were babies, either of us," she added, severely.

Yes, there was something suspicious in that smile. And Dr. Atherton
hadn't looked at us full in the face while he talked. Besides, there was
a sort of lurking pity in his voice; and--yes, I'm sure his lip had
twitched a little nervously.

"Why should he be nervous if there is nothing the matter with the ship?"

"And why should he look as if he felt sorry for us?"

"Let's ask the captain," I said.

"Just leave the ship in my keeping, young ladies," said the captain,
when we asked him. "Go back to your fancy-work and your books."

The _May Queen_ was not a regular passenger ship. Sylvia, and I, and
Dr. Atherton were the only passengers. She was laden with wool--a cargo
boat; but Sylvia and I were accommodated with such a pretty cabin!

We had left Sydney in the captain's charge. Father wanted us to have a
year's schooling in England; and we were coming to Devonshire to live
with Aunt Sabina, and get a little polishing at a finishing school.

Of course we had chummed up with Dr. Atherton, though we had never met
him before. One's obliged to be friendly with every one on board, you
know; and then he was the only one there was to be friendly with. He was
acting as the ship's surgeon for the voyage home. He was going to
practise in England. He was, perhaps, twenty-five--not more than
twenty-six, at any rate, and on the strength of that he began to
constitute himself a sort of second guardian over us.

We didn't object. He was very nice. And, indeed, he made the time pa