ion of
knowing that we are working for someone else's peace of mind. You must
not destroy what it is that has given you the rest you enjoy."

Stratton was silent for a few moments, and sat gazing out to sea, where
the lanterns of the passing boat and yacht slowly rose and fell on the
gently heaving sea.

"And who could help feeling restful in such a place as this? Even I,
old and worn-out as I am, enjoy the calm, languorous, peaceful sensation
which steals over me. Very disloyal, my dear boy--un-English to a
degree--but there is something in these places that one cannot get at
home."

"Yes, I own to it," said Stratton after a pause; "one feels safe ashore
after the perils of a mental wreck; but there are moments, old fellow,
when I shrink and shiver, for it is as if a wave were noiselessly
approaching to curl over and sweep one back into the dark waters."

"Stuff! that's all past," said Brettison, lighting a fresh cigar. "Here
we are in a lovely place, and with only one care--which we depute to a
nurse. Let's eat and drink our fill of the peace that has come to us."

"But it cannot go on, Brettison," said Stratton solemnly. "It must have
an end."

"Yes; an end comes to all things, boy. I shall die before long, but why
should I sit and brood upon that? Let's thankfully accept the good with
the ill--no, not the ill," he said solemnly: "death is not an evil. It
is only made so by man."

"But we cannot go on staying here," said Stratton with energy.

"Why not?"

"Oh, there are a dozen reasons. My work, for one."

"Nonsense! Sink your pride and grow strong and well. I have plenty for
both of us, my boy."

"And do you think I shall settle down to such a life as that, Brettison?
No; you know me better."

The old man was silent for a few minutes.

"Yes," he said at last; "I expected you to speak like that, but it is
only absurd pride."

"I have not much left me in life," said Stratton quietly as he rose from
the seat he had occupied. "Let me enjoy that."

Brettison made no reply. He was pained and yet pleased as he sat back
and saw through the smoke of his cigar the dim figure of his companion
pass and go down toward the sea, gradually growing more indistinct, till
the darkness swallowed him.

CHAPTER FIFTY.

A NIGHT ALARM.

There was a feeling in the air along that dark shore which accorded well
with Stratton's sensations. The solemn melancholy of the place was
calming; and as he wat