hed us, coming from among the group of
sailors forward.

"There's a smart bit of wind in those clouds, sir," he said
respectfully, "an' I don't like the look o' the coast ter leeward.
Shall we trim sail?"

"Not quite yet, Watkins. It will be some time before the gale strikes
here. The bark is going down, presently."

"Yes, sir; but the men better stand by." He glanced from my face to
that of the girl, lowering his voice. "Harwood tells me Sanchez was
aboard, sir, and refused to leave?"

"Very true; but he was dying; no doubt is dead by now. There was
nothing to be done for him."

"I should say not, Mr. Carlyle. I wouldn't lift a finger ter save him
frum hell."

There was a sudden cry forward, and a voice shouted.

"There she goes, buckies! That damn Dutchman's done with. That's the
last o' the _Namur_!"

I turned swiftly, my hand grasping her fingers as they clung to the
rail. With a rasping sound, clearly distinguished across the
intervening water, as though every timber cried out in agony to the
strain, the battered hulk slid downward, the deck breaking amidships
as the stern splashed into the depths; then that also toppled over,
leaving nothing above water except the blunt end of a broken
bow-sprit, and a tangle of wreckage, tossed about on the crest of the
waves. I watched breathlessly, unable to utter a sound; I could only
think of that stricken man in the cabin, those wild eyes which had
threatened me. He was gone now--gone! Watkins spoke.

"It's all over, sir."

"Yes, there is nothing to keep us here any longer," I answered still
dazed, but realizing I must arouse myself. "Shake out the reef in your
mainsail, and we'll get out to sea. Who is at the wheel?"

"Schmitt, sir--what is the course, Captain Carlyle?"

"Nor'west, by nor', and hold on as long as you can."

"Ay, ay, sir; nor'west by nor' she is."

I yet held Dorothy's hand tightly clasped in my own, and the depths of
her uplifted eyes questioned me.

"We will go aft, dear, and I will tell you the whole story," I said
gently, "for now we are homeward bound."

* * * * *

I write these few closing lines a year later, in the cabin of the
_Ocean Spray_, a three master, full to the hatches with a cargo of
tobacco, bound for London, and a market. Dorothy is on deck, eagerly
watching for the first glimpse of the chalk cliffs of old England. I
must join her presently, yet linger below to add these final
sentence