es
was weeping, but weeping gently. Cecilia was sad, and her heart was
beating with anxiety and suspense--when the maid rushed in.

"O madam! O miss! O Mrs Lascelles! I have found it all out!--they are
murderous, bloody, do-everything pirates!!!"

"Mercy on us!" exclaimed Miss Ossulton; "surely they will never dare--?"

"Oh, ma'am, they dare anything!--they just now were throwing the steward
overboard--and they have rummaged all the portmanteaus, and dressed
themselves in the gentlemen's best clothes--the captain of them told the
steward that he was Lord B.--and that if he dared to call him anything
else, he would cut his throat from ear to ear--and if the cook don't
give them a good dinner, they swear that they'll chop his right hand
off, and make him eat it, without pepper or salt!"

Miss Ossulton screamed, and went off into hysterics. Mrs Lascelles and
Cecilia went to her assistance; but the latter had not forgotten the
very different behaviour of Jack Pickersgill, and his polite manners,
when he boarded the vessel. She did not, therefore, believe what the
maid had reported, but still her anxiety and suspense were great,
especially about her father. After having restored her aunt, she put on
her bonnet, which was lying on the sofa.

"Where are you going, dear?" said Mrs Lascelles.

"On deck," replied Cecilia. "I must and will speak to these men."

"Gracious heaven, Miss Ossulton going on deck! have you heard what
Phoebe says?"

"Yes, aunt, I have; but I can wait here no longer."

"Stop her! stop her!--she will be murdered!--she will be--she is mad!"
screamed Miss Ossulton; but no one attempted to stop Cecilia, and on
deck she went. On her arrival, she found Jack Pickersgill and Corbett
walking the deck; one of the smugglers at the helm, and the rest
forward, and as quiet as the crew of the yacht. As soon as she made her
appearance, Jack took off his hat, and made her a bow.

"I do not know whom I have the honour of addressing, young lady! but I
am flattered with this mark of confidence. You feel, and I assure you,
you feel correctly, that you are not exactly in lawless hands."

Cecilia looked with more surprise than fear at Pickersgill; Mr
Hautaine's dress became him, he was a handsome, fine-looking man, and
had nothing of the ruffian in his appearance; unless, like Byron's
Corsair, he was _half savage, half soft_. She could not help thinking
that she had met many with less pretensions, as far as appearan