inappropriate.

Although the sea was not quite so still now, owing to the swell caused
by the recent gale, it was quite as glassy as it was then. The sun,
too, was as hot and the sky as brilliant, but the aspect of the _Foam_
was much changed. The deep quiet was gone. Crowded on every part of
the deck, and even down in her hold, were the crew of the man-of-war,
lolling about listlessly and sadly, or conversing with grave looks about
the catastrophe which had deprived them so suddenly of their floating
home.

Gascoyne and Henry leaned over the stern in order to avoid being
overheard by those around them, and conversed in low tones.

"But why not attempt to escape?" said the latter, in reply to some
observation made by his companion.

"Because I am pledged to give myself up to justice."

"No; not to justice," replied the youth, quickly. "You said you would
give yourself up to me and Mr Mason. I for one won't act the part of
a--a--"

"Thief-catcher," suggested Gascoyne.

"Well, put it so if you will; and I am certain that the missionary will
not have anything to do with your capture. He will say that the
officers of justice are bound to attend to such matters. It would be
perfectly right in you to try to escape."

"Ah! Henry, your feelings have warped your judgment," said Gascoyne,
shaking his head. "It is strange how men will prevaricate and deceive
themselves when they want to reason themselves into a wrong course or
out of a right one. But what you or Mr Mason think or will do has
nothing to do with my course of action."

"But the law holds, if I mistake not, that a man is not bound to
criminate himself," said Henry.

"I know not and care not what the law of man holds," replied the other,
sadly. "I have forfeited my life to my country, and I am willing to lay
it down."

"Nay, not your life," said Henry; "you have done no murder."

"Well, then, at least my liberty is forfeited. I shall leave it to
those who judge me whether my life shall be taken or no. I sometimes
wish that I could get away to some distant part of the world, and there,
by living the life of an honest man, try to undo, if possible, a little
of what I have done. But, woe's me, wishes and regrets come too late.
No, I must be content to reap what I have sown."

"They will be certain to hang you," said the youth, bitterly.

"I think it likely they will," replied his companion.

"And would you call that justice?" asked Henry,