rumbled Forest. "Remember what ye promised
us, sir."

"I'll heave-to and send a boat," was the shout that came across the
waters, and the next moment the necessary orders were given, and so
close were the ship and raft, that the words of command were heard
distinctly on board the latter, as the "Dolphin" came to the wind, and
under her two topsails, jib, and spanker, lay hove-to. A boat was
lowered, and half an hour later the mate of the "Halcyon" was telling
his sad tale in the cabin of the "Dolphin." Her late crew were in irons
forward, her passengers cared for, the ship working her way for Port
Natal, and the deserted raft, stripped to the spars themselves, floating
miles astern.

The evil time at last seemed to have ended, for that afternoon the
westerly breeze died away, and the "Dolphin," with a fair wind, lay her
course, dropping her anchor in the almost land-locked harbour, without
an accident, landing her passengers and prisoners, and sailing again on
her whaling voyage.

Six weeks had elapsed since her departure. The Bishop of Cape Town, who
had chanced to be at Durban at the time, had, at the missionary's
request, again performed the marriage ceremony, which had so hastily
been solemnised on board the sinking brig. The remains of the tough
British seaman, Captain Weber, had been buried with all honour in the
cemetery of the town, and the same slab covered him, his carpenter
Morris, and old Adams. Mr Lowe, in charge of the gold dust, had left
for England, as second officer of the barque "The Flying Fish," which
had put into Port Natal disabled by the gale which had so ill-treated
the unfortunate "Halcyon."

One afternoon, about six weeks after the sailing of the "Dolphin," a
small party of three stood on the beach at Port Natal.

A large steamer, with the blue peter flying at the fore, the union jack
at her mizen peak, and a cloud of dense black smoke rising from her
funnel, could be seen off the bar, while a boat, manned by four powerful
men, rose and fell on the rollers close by the beach.

"Even at this last moment, Wyzinski, it is not too late. There are
plenty of empty berths on board the `Saxon.'"

Hughes seemed greatly moved, and the missionary's usually impassive face
showed signs of deep emotion, which, it was evident, he suppressed with
difficulty.

"No, old friend. No, it must not be," he replied, his thin lips
quivering as he spoke. "The work we have begun together, I will finish