g the hoodwinking of the mentally excited historian of
Thibet. "It's a fearful night on the Channel," thought Major Hardwicke
as he waited in vain for Simpson's return to act as valet de chambre.

"God help all at sea! It's a fearful night," Prince Djiddin murmured
as he closed his eyes, little reckoning that the beautiful girl whom he
loved more than life was tempest-tossed off the Corbieres, while poor
Mattie Jones literally "sickened on the heaving wave."

The great house was lone and still, and for the first time Prince
Djiddin reflected upon the exposed situation of the old miser's home.
"Poor old chap," he muttered, as he closed his eyes. "Somebody might
come in and throttle him some night! No one would be here to stop it.
I must speak to Simpson, yes, speak to Simpson--that is, if he is ever
sober enough to listen. Poor old soldier! He will have his drink!"

There was a singular improvised bivouac going on in the ruined martello
tower where Professor Alaric Hobbs had set up his instruments to take
some interesting observations upon an occultation of Venus.

A coast-guard station at Bouley Bay and St. Catherine's Head rendered
the further occupancy of the old martello tower at Rozel Head
unnecessary, and only a few rats and bats now resented Alaric Hobbs'
sequestration of the second story. He meditated a comparative memoir
upon the "Tides of Fundy Bay, and the Channel Islands," with a treatise
upon "Contracted Ocean Surface Currents." Astronomer, hydrographer,
geologist, and all-round savant, his lank form was already familiar to
the Channel Islanders. And, like the wind, he veered around "where he
listed."

"Great Jupiter aid us!" cried the son of Minerva, "Venus is unpropitious
to-night. All my trouble is vain." For when the black storm broke upon
the little channel islet, Alaric Hobbs saw no way of a comfortable
return to the Royal Victoria at St. Heliers. "I might leave all here
and claim old Fraser's hospitality for a night. No one can get up to the
second story," mused Hobbes, who now regretted having ordered the fly to
come for him only at day-break. "Here is a wild night of inky darkness.
The star occults only at three A.M. This hurricane ruins all. And old
man Fraser may not have returned from London." So with a basket of
luncheon, a roll of blankets, and a bottle of cocktails, the volunteer
astronomer reluctantly sought the dryest corner of the second floor
of the old tower for a night's camp. A squa