that
you won't feel the loss of this."

"There's no fear of that," said Jack. "As for repayment, I hope you
won't mention it again."

"I'll have to give it you in good wishes."

The basket of roses stood on the table. Jack looked at the beautifully
blended colours, and stooped to smell the sweet perfume. "I'll take one
of these," he said, "--the one you like the best."

The girl took a bud of La Rosiere, dark, velvety, fragrant, perfect.
"I'm in love with them all," she said, "but this is my favourite."

She handed the bud to Jack, who put it in the button-hole of his worn
and shabby coat.

"Thanks," he said, "I'm more than repaid."

Sartoris burst out laughing.

"Don't you feel a bit in the way, Summerhayes?" he said. "I do. When
these young things exchange love-tokens, it's time we went into the next
room."

"No," laughed the Pilot, "we won't budge. The gal gets twenty-pound
worth of gold, and offers a rose in return. It's a beautiful flower, no
doubt; but how would a slice of mutton go, after 'damper' and 'billy'
tea? Rosebud, my gal, go and get Mr. Scarlett something to eat."

Joining in the laugh, Rose went into her kitchen, and Jack commenced to
pack up his gold, in order that the table might be laid for dinner.

But if you come to think of it, there may have been a great deal in his
request, and even more in the girl's frank bestowal.

CHAPTER XXI.

The Foundation of the Gold League.

Mr. Crewe sat in the Timber Town Club with his satellite, Cathro, beside
him. The old gentleman was smoking a well-seasoned briar pipe, from
which he puffed clouds of smoke contemplatively, as he watched the
gesticulations of a little man who was arguing with a gentleman who wore
riding-breeches and leggings.

"I tell you, sir," said the little man, "that there is not the vestige
of proof that the mails were stolen, not the slightest scintilla of
truth in the suspicion."

"Then what became of them?" asked the other, as he fixed a gold
horse-shoe pin more securely in his tie.

"What became of them?" exclaimed the little man. "They were washed
overboard, washed overboard and lost."

"But," said the man of horses, "I happened to be riding home late that
night, and, I assure you, there was not a breath of wind; the sea was as
smooth as glass."

"That might be," retorted the little man, who was now pacing up and down
in front of his adversary in a most excited fashion. "That might be, but
there is a lot