him in your hands, for I feel confident that you will save his life.” . “ 1 will do all in my power, Miss Cora—for your sake,” he added, in a low, earnest tone. But Cora had glided from the room, and the doctor was alone with his patient. Gazing upon him an instant in deep thought, he murmured: “ Oh, that he were different! . _ “ How strange that he, so like his. beautiful sister, should be so wild and reckless in his life, and far better would it be for him now to die than to live and bring dishonor and sorrow upon those who love him as he certainly Will do. “Yes, it Would e better that he died, and time would heal the wounds his death made in the hearts of his sister and father while living, he will bow their heads in shame, I fear. _ . “ But I pledged myself to save him, and if man can do it I will, for her sake, though he 15 desperately hurt.” A servant now entered and the doctor set to his task with a will. The broken arm and ribs were set, the cuts and bruises were dressed, and the patlent made as comfortable as was possible, though he still lay in a state of coma, and whether it would end in death, who could know? _ . Thus the night passed away, and still the faith- ful physician remained at his post of duty, until at last he told Cora, who stole into the room, that the crisis .was past and that her brother would live, though he must have the most de- voted care and perfect quiet. “ I will take care of him myself,” replied the noble girl, and most faithfully she kept her word, hard] leaving his bedside day or night and then only oing so when almost commanded by Doc- tor Travers to seek repose. As Frank Keene grew better he became peevish and found fault with everybody and everything, but Cora bore his ill-humor meekly, until one day he was so unkind toward her that she called a servant to remain with him while she ordered her horse for a gallop of a few miles, for she felt that she needed exercise. As she turned into the road from the Oak Ridge gateway she met Doctor Travers, also upon horseback. His face brightened as he saw her, for he had come to love her far more through her devotion to her brother, and he said, cheerily: “ Good—morning. Miss Cora; I am delighted to see you out on horseback, for you have been so devoted a nurse that I have been anxious regard- ing you.” ‘ came for a gallop, and will be glad to have company, Doctor Travers, if you care to join me. “ Gladly: but how is Frank?” “As cross as abear,” she answered, pouting her full, red lips. “A good Sign but which wa shall we ride?” “ wished see the spot w ere Frank was thrown. ” > “I will ride there with you; but has he said an hm” gto his experience that mg ' ' “ How (lo-you mean, Doctor Travers?” “ He was returning from the village, I be- “ y ‘es, mdgyou infer that he had been drink- ing?” she saidyfrankly. “ Yes, I know that e had.” “True, and he was not himself; but he seems to remember that some one sprung for his bridle- rein, and his horse darting to one side threw him to the ground.” -- , . “Dans he remember ought else?” “ No, or if he does, he 'will say no more the subject.” - “:Are you aware that he was robbed?” “ Ah! I remember now that he wears no jew- elry his watch, shirt-studs'and rings being gone, but i had half-feared that—‘” Here Cora paused, and her face flushed, and the doctor asked: f‘ What did you fear, Miss__Cora?” “ To be frank with you, Doctor Travers I feared he had gambled heavily, and left ' upon watch and,. jewelry as security for his losses, as v I 2:5, ,to say poor Frank has often done be- fo - - ‘ “ Did you notice that there were scratches up- on his left-hand little finger, where he wore a diamond?” Yes; I did notice this, now that you speak of it. “That proves that the rin , which was small for him, had been torn off in te‘ in fact, Miss Cora, your brother was attacked that night and robbed.” “ Indeed! but by whom?” “ That I wish now to make known to you, for it is certain that he was not the only victim that night.” ‘ \Vhat can you mean, Doctor Travers?” asked Cora, while her face turned deadly ' ale. » They had now reached the copse of woods through which the road ran, and the doctor drew rein upon the spot where Frank Keene had been thrown from his horse. “ I have not before told you, Miss Cora, that there has been considerable excitement in the village of late, regardinga tragedy that occurred the night your brother was thrown, for I felt that you had trouble enough at home, and I told thetscrvants not to speak to you upon the sub- ec -. “The fact is that here is where a footpad sprunguout to attack your brother, and when he was t own and stunned, he was robbed by {If 7wretch whose act so nearly cost him his 1 e. “ And who was his assailant?” asked Cora, in a voice that quivered with emotion. “ A Jew.” “ A Jew rob a man on the highway? “ This is not the character of that people, Doctor Travers,” said Cora. “True; but there are exceptions to all rules, Miss Cora, and this Jew is the exception to his people, though I confess he does not look like either an assassin or a highwaymau, for a more noble specimen of manhood I never saw.” “ You have seen him, then?” “ Yes; for I went to court this morning where he is on trial.” “ On trial for robbing my brother?” “ Miss Cora, there is a far worse charge against him.” “Indeed?” “ Yes: for on yonder spot, not a hundred yards from where your brother was assailed, at the foot of that arge tree, a dead man was found upon the very spot where Frank was hurt.” Cora uttered no word of surprise, but bent her face low, as though half-stunned by the news, and the doctor continued: “It seems that the Jew, gentleman though he appears, was tramping along this road, and he not only attacked your brother, to rob him, and did so, while he lay unconscious at his feet, but he also shot and killed another person, fir- ing gpon him evidently from behind yonder rec. “And they caught the man who did this?” asked Cora, in a voice that was hardly audible. “Yes, he was found standing over the body of the man he had slain, and at his feet was a handkerchief containing your brother’s watch, jewelry and pocket-book, so he was arrested, thrown into jail, and is now on trial, and my word for it he will be hanged, for the evidence of his guilt is conclusive.” “ Doctor Travers, I must go to that trial. “Come, you must go with me,” cried Cora, in a voice that fair! ' rung in its earnestness. “No, Miss Cora, or—" “ I will hear no argument against it Doctor Travers, for I will go and at once, and if you will not accompany me I will go alone.” Doctor Travers was astounded at the excite- ment of the girl. “Has her long siege of nursing her brother turned her mind?” he muttered. But Cora was not to be put off, and said al- most angrily: “ Come, sir, will you go with me, in the ab- sence of my father and brother to escort me, or shall I go alone?” “ I will go with you, of course, but—H “ Then come, for there is no time to lose,” and Miss Cora, she dashed away at a swift gallop, leaving Aus- tin Travers but one thin to do, and that was to put spurs to his horse an follow her. CHAPTER IV. conn’s CONrnssmN. . . . ALVAN J UDAH was a braveman; but in prison in a stran e lace, with no friend near, name to call upgonpfor aid, he felt that fortune was a ainst him. . g“I have no money, and I have no friends, so why need I send for a lawyer? _ _ “ No, I will tell my story as it is, and if they do not believe me I cannot help it, and I must take the consequences, and I will and bravely, too, for I am no coward.” . So he thought aloud as he paced his httle cell the night before his day of trial. ‘ The jailer had told him that all felt that he was guilty, and advised him to et a lawyer; but Alva i Judah had told him that e had no money to one. ‘Pa'l'lyien send for your friends,” suggested the 'ailer. J “ I have no friends,” was the sad reply. “ You are in a bad way then.” _ “ Yes, I am only a poor Jew, With no home, no money, and no friends,” and the tone in which this was said touched even the hard heart of the jailer, accustomed daily to scenes of woe and wretchedness. _ So desperate was the situation of the Jew con- sidered that none of the young lawyers would offer to take his case and thus link their names with a failure when starting upon their career. At last the day came round when the trial was to be held, and in irons, and accom anied by two constables, Alvan Judah was ta en to the court-house. He was pale, but firm, and his fine face seemed to create an impression in his favor as he was placed in the prisoner‘s dock. ' ' Calnily he glanced over the court—room, his eyes falling an instant upon the stern judge, then resting upon the faces of the jury, one by one, the men who held his life in their hands, and then his gaze swe t over the crowd who had come to see him trie for murder. Not one face did he see that was friendly to him The court being opened, the prisoner was asked who was his awyer. “ I have no legal adviser, your honor,” was the repl , delivered in a deep, rich—toned voice that reac ed every ear in the crowded court—room. “ Do you wish the court to appoint a lawyer to defend you?” asked the judge, gazing with in- creased interest upon the prisoner. ‘ “ I am too poor, your honor, to ay for legal services, so will defend myself, wit the court’s permission, my profession being that of an at- torney.” At this a murmur ran around the room, and the court granting permission for the prisoner to be his own attorney, the trial be an. Most attentively did Alvan J u ah listen to the charges against him, made by the half-dozen young men who had been his ca tors. He heard one of them tell t 0 story of how the had been out to a farm-house serenading, an returni , at the forks of the road, their ve- hicle had brbien down, and one of their number had started for'thc nearest house for aid. Suddenly while walking through the wood- land, he ha beheld a man some distance before him. and feelin that his actions were suspicious he had return for his comrades and they had crept up to the spot and discovered the prisoner standing over the body of a dead man. Upon seein them hehad started to esca ut evidently the impossibility of doing», he had uietly submitted to arrest. The .man none of the'party recognized, but he *had evidentlybcen robbed, and by his side, they found a handkerchief tied up at the four corners; and containing a gold watch and hain, adiamond and a seal ring, some diamond apair of valuable sleeve-buttons and in, book in which were some forty dollars ‘~ - handkerchief was silk and hadcmbroid- cred in one corner theinitials, H D. D.” . The valuables were known to belon to Frank Keene; butth‘e handkerchief Was not " sande owner for'it could not befound. .’ ‘ ,. : ‘ The testimony went onto show that the prise oner had evidently first halted FrankHKeene, causing his horse to throw him, and ' robbed him, and, afterward before he had gotten far from the spot, had either been discovered in his act, or come upon the mur- dered man, and to cover up his tracks, or again for the purpose of robbery, had taken the life of the deceased. He certainly had been found by the dead body, and at his feet was the handkerchief containing the valuables of Frank Keene, which he had dropped there to search the body. W hether the dead man had been robbed of anything or not, was not known, as nothing of value was found upon the prisoner, other than a purse in which were some twenty dollars, a seal ring, a silver watch and a derringer istol, which was unloaded and showed that it ha been lately discharged. This weapon had the initials A. J. upon it, which accorded with what the Jew stated his name to be, and the death-wound in the fore- head of the dead man had been made with a bul— let which exactly fitted the risoner’s pistol. In the little sacliel of t e Jew only a few changes of clothing had been found, with noth- ing else of a suspicious nature to show that he had committed other robberies. , After several of the party had taken the pris— oner to jail, those left to watch the bod , had discovered the prostrate form of Frank IIeene lying further on in the road, and at first believed him to be dead: but just then Tobey, the negro coachman of Oak Ridge Farm had dashed up, mounted u on his young master’s horse. and the youth had een soon after removed to his home, and had been since too ill, the doctor had stated, to make any report of what had happened. Still, the testimony of Frank Keene had not been considered necessary, especially as Doctor Travers had stated the youth had not been in a condition to know what had occurred and the far graver charge of murder, not robbery, was the one the Jew was to be tried for. Such was the testimony of the witnesses against Alvan Judah, and that he was guilty not one in the court-room doubted. When he arose to address the court in his owu behalf, he glanced fearlessly around upon all, and towered up to his full hight, presenting a strik- m and commanding appearance. n his sonorous voice, that reached every part of the court-room, Alvan Judah told his story, one of bitter trials and sorrow: He was the son of wealth rents, and had been born in a Southern State, e said; but just as he had been admitted to the bar as a lawyer, his father’s health had failed him, and being or- dered to Mexico by his physician, he had accom- panied him thither, as it was the duty of a filial son to do. There his father had entered into speculations which had swamped his fortune and this had broken his life wholly, sothat soon after he died and found a ave in a foreign land. Soon after is mother had followed his father to the grave, and alone and in verty Alvan Judah had returned to the UniteJmStates to try and build up a name and fortune for himself. He had taken passage on a schooner bound from Vera Cruz to Boston, and his finances be- inrr low had set out on foot for New York. Du account of the hot summer days he walked by night, and thus had come upon the body of the dead man lying in the roadway under the shadow of the overhanging trees. He had stumbled over the body, and then had examined it closely to see if the man was dead. He had found the wound in the forehead, and this told him foul play had been done. The handkerchief, with its valuables, he had found by the side of the body, and he had thought e had heard the sound of some one run- ning away from the spot, though this might have been imagination. ’ In conclusion Alvan Judah said, while the court—room was as still as death: “ Gentlemen of the jury, I confess to you, with deep shame, , t I was sorely tem ted in my povertyyto e that handkerchief of valuables, well-known) that they would keep me from want in the ‘arge city to which I was going, nu» til I could obtain work. “ But while I stood there, the tompter iii-gin me to take them and hasten on, my good Ange came to me and warned me not to fall a victim to temptation, and I had just decided to 0 on my way and make known at the first farin- ouse the discovery I had made, when those gentlemen, who are swearing away my life as Witnesses against me, came suddenly upon me, and I was caught in a situation that may hang me. “As to the young gentleman who was found lying prostrate further along the road,» I know nothing, and, so help me the God of Abra- ham, and the God of the Christians, I have told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” A sigh ran through the listeners, as Alvan Judah sat down, his eyes fixed fearlessly upon the jury; but still, though his words andbear— ing had made a deep impression upon all, it was easy to see that he was still believed guilty, and the judge so charged in his address to the twelve men who held the prisoner’s life in their keep- in . - fI’Vithout leaving their seats they glanced at each other, and reading in each face the thoughts thereon impressed, b mutual consent they came to an agreement, an so the foreman stated when asked by the court: I “ Gentlemen of the 'ury, have you deCided upon a verdict?” came t e ominous question. “ lVe have,” was the deep response of the fore— man. Alvan Judah faced the jury with a face that showed no atom of fear, and there was no tremor in the hand that lay upon the table be— fore him. “ “That say you, gentlemen of the jury, do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?” A stillness, such as haunts a tomb, was in the room, as all awaited the reply. A moment of deep suspense, and then one word broke the silence. It was: “Guilty!” ‘ Every eye was upon the face of the prisoner; but it did not blanch, nor did the firm lips quiver. \Vhatever his emotions, Alvan Judah had nerves of iron and showed no emotion whatever when brought face to face with his cruel fate. “ “’hat have you to say, prisoner, why the extreme penalty of the law should not be passed upon you for the crime of which you have been found guilty?” “ I have only to say, your Honor, that cir— cumstantial evidence condemns me to die an ig- nominious death for a crime of which I am not guilty,” came in the unflinching voice of the ew. “ Prisoner. rise and receive sentence!” Instantly Alvan Judah arose, the chains upon his ankles clanking dismally, as he turned and faced the man who was to pronounce his fearful d m. Olin instant of painful silence,¢ud then the lips of the stern old judge parted to pass the sen- tence, when suddenly there was a commotion in the rear of the court-room and 'a slender form glided rapidly down the aisle and confronted the judge, while there rung out in thrilling m 0 nos. ’ “Hold there, judge! Condemn not an inno— cent man to death, for I, not that Jew, am the guilt y one I” ' (To awaited.) e 1 @ H g“ “ She’ll need no guns when she enters Balti— more as a peaceful trader and waits for the mar- ket prices to rise till my other plans are carried out!” “ May I ask, Captain SMort, what those ‘other plans ’ are?” p “ You may ask, but I not having yet fully d0- clded upon them it will not be hkely you can t an answer. Suffice it for that when the , iablocito leaves that port will carry out more treasure than she takes in. and what I most covet there will be on board when I seek Southern waters once more.” » Marvel made no answer. Ho ho to be re— stored to duty when the vessel sa' ed now, as it would make his intended escape in the future more feasible, and he did not want to anger Spirifort an more, if he could avoid it. He knew t at the second officer, though a good seaman, was no navigator, and that Spirifort had always depended upon him as such. His conjectures were right, for the next day, before weighing anchor to o to sea, Spirifort said, in as pleasant a tone as e could assume: “ You had best return to duty, Mr. Marvel. I was in an ill-humor when I put you under ar- rest!” Marvel merely bowed; he would not trust himself with an answer. He knew it was but a hollow truce at best, but he deemed it better to avail himself of it as far as he could. . So, when they got under way, he was at his station, and when the sun neared its meridian as they plunged along through the bulky seas, he got up his sextant, took the latitude and entered it on the log. ‘ i I The orders were to run down the coast until they could si ht some lumber rt, where a cargo of lum r or staves coul be taken on board to hide the guns and carry out the charac- ter the captain meant to assume. He had had a name painted on the broad, awkward stern of the craft: “ TEE SALLY ANN, or GREENOCK.” Hailing from abroad, with forged foreign pa- pers, he thought he could do better in American ports than he could under a home hail and colors —so far as k ing up his disguise went. He had caused the also bow and stem to be so put on that he could very soon have them displaced, and when the spars were once more in their old place, could make his craft as swift and rakish as she had been before. The crew not having much work to do now on the rough, lumbering old craft, took things easy, lived high and enjoyed themselves, knowing well from the past that this lazy kind of life would not last long, but that Spirifort would soon be in some mad enterprise again. They had sailed too Ion with him to expect an extended season of quiei After leaving the fishing-banks, where fleets of 9100 and schooners were engaged in taking cod andflalibut, too busy to mind any business but their own, or to notice any craft that cr< )ss‘cd their hawsc or wake, soils were seen few and far between. T00 far northward for commercial routes they were in no danger of meeting any craft whose officers would‘give them a second look. ‘ ' CHAPTER XIX. - - . WJHBL’S DECISION. HALFhei‘ ‘ ‘ ' been in tears by sweet M’ ' I ‘ It seemed to her as if her rting g ‘Ed‘wui Marvel would be eternal. When she mac.wa “and glanced- from the win- dow out upoujefiie. glittering waters of the bay, as they danced merrily in the early sunlight, she saw. the ' t where the Mexican man—of- war had ‘ ‘,.'.Iiich0red. The vessel was no- where in slgh‘ " t ‘ ' .‘lmdmade sail and gone to sea amid the of night. The "poor girl 'sobbed bitterly, for she felt from the dark, threatening look on that face, as well as the harshwords he uttered, that Spirifort was a deadly enemy to the man she loved, and she feared that the life so' dear to her was in peril, dark and imminent. shegulanced again out_ on the bay and saw ‘ w 'te-winged mail- .s irifort‘ln-Span . w ,s, A wine or the campaigns“; ———du— BY NED BUN, , gm, ..,.. .13.. CHAPTER T _, ,_ SALLY'ANN. CARGO. ' “ ' ', !” shouted sawfthe white soils of a 'ttle cutter sloop whichhad lufl'ed up close to Windward. ' -. “ It’s the mail cutter, that runs to the inlet twice a month—nothing worth stopping for,” said McDevitt, recognizing the vessel which they were alread ' passing swiftly. “ Thank eaven !” V murmured Marvel to him- self. “ She stays but a single day in port, and on her return she will carry a warning from my sweet Melisse to those whom I-yet love, in spite of our long estrangement! They will be on their guard, if indeed they do not leave the city with no trace that he could follow. Now I can feel easier.” “’hen Spirifort and the head carpenter re- turned to the cabin to finish their lunch Marvel had again returned to his berth where he, for a time, listened to their talk and then dropped asleep. I‘Vhen he woke in the morning the vessel had reached the bay or cove where the work of trans— formation was to be carried out. It was a lone— ly spot—a mere little cove, backed by high cliffs and in the rear of a forest-covered island v'vhich cut off the view seaward and‘broke the ocean swell. leaving the little basin as smooth as an in- land pool. Here, shored up as before, with spars, the carpenters could work without hindrance except when the tide was at its highest; and Marvel. though not allowed on deck, knew well what was going on by the sounds of saws and hammers which filled his ears. Four days this work was going on, the planks getting a coat of paint as fast as they were in place, to assimilate the false with the real part of the hull. Meantime, the second officer, with a good part of the crew, slackened up all the back- stays and after-shrouds in the rigging, and set taut on the stays leading forward, so that the masts were soon brought over from the pretty rake they had held until they were perpendicu- lar—or if anything stayed forward so as to give them the still:' and clumsy look of a merchant- man. then the carpenters were nearly done, Spiri~ fort caused the painters to paint two eat un- gainly stripes of light yellow around t e entire lcngt of the hull, bow and stem, making her look as coarse and common as any craft could be made to ap ar. IVhen all was done to his satisfaction, Spiri- fort paid off the carpenter and his men, all that he had agreed to pay and even added a gratuity, when, as the weather was fine and the water smooth, they agreed to return home in a large boat which he could spare, and thus save the schooner from again visiting the inlet. And now, before going to sea, to satisfy his own malice and to let Marvel see the wonderful change in the looks of the vessel, which would defy recognition with those who had seen her in her beauty of spars, canvas and hull, Spirifort called the lieutenant out and took him on shore where he could Scan the vessel below and aloft as she lay swmging to a. single anchor at short range. In the bluff bows—the square, low stem, the wretched Cpaint, With her straight masts up and down, an an old patched suit of sails on her, the schooner resembled an old, worthless drogher just fit to carry cargo on the coast where a port could be reached easily if the weather looked arm” 10a ugly. “ What do you think of the Diablocito now?” asked Spirifort, keenly watching the face of his subordinate. “ For once she wears what her commander cannot—an honest look!” was the uiet reply. “ For all her honesty of look 5 e yet carries her_ teeth ! ” said Spirifort, alluding to her guns, which were yet visible on deck. “Ay, and she’ll need them bad enough with her (Siailing qualities all destroyed!” was the re- jom er. While she was dressin packet running in to the pier it always occupied. Hurrying down to the salon, where her father ‘ and uncle waited her resence at breakfast, Mc- hsse sadly alarmed t cm by the deathly pallor of her cheeks, her red and swollen eyes. She was too good and pure to conceal her feel- ings or use any subterfuge. She told them both of what had occurred in the afternoon of the previous day when the captain of the Mexican schooner ha surprised his lieutenant in her company in the arden, and of the quarrel be— tween them whic resulted in his being ordered on immediately, on pain of arrest if he hesitated to obey. . Then she told of the threat which alarmed her lover in re rd to the safety of his mother and sister in Baltimore, and the letter of warningshe had romised to write to them. “ ut,” said she, “ instead of writing to them, I will go myself to warn them. A letter might be lost or miscarry, while 1—] would surely reach them and be there to receive my Edward when he ets free from his present entangle- ment, as Iie will at the earliest pOssible mo- ment!” “ But, child, the distance, the danger of travel!” cried her uncle, the priest. “ Your God and the holy saints will watch over me!” she replied. “ I do not fear danger when duty is before me!” “ If you go, my dear daughter, I shall go also. You are too young, and have been too tender] reared, to 0 out into the wicked world alone! ’ said the fat er. “ I know, my brother,” he added, “that you will be lonesome without us, but we will return, Heaven prosperng us, right speedily l” “ My duties never permit me to be lonesome!” answered the priest, sadly. “But I shall miss your kind words and the bright face of my dear niece. But go, if you think it wise and right, and my prayers will go with you. I. too, was pleased with this manly stranger, and if you can avert danger from thOSe he loves, no word of mine shall keep you back!” “ Then, dear father, it is settled; we will go in the mail packet when she sails." “ As you will, child, so be it. A look into the brighter outer world will do you no harm, and when you have seen both Sides of life (here, you play feel more contented in our peaceful home lerc . And that was all. Within the hour fair Me- lisse began her preparations for the journey. And her heart grew lighter as she (lid so, be- cause, she said to herself: _ “ I shall see his dear ones, and soon, oh, I pray it may be rery soon, clasp him in my true and loving embrace, meet him to part never, never more I” It was a busy day in the house upon the bill, for Monsieur Duprét had his own wardrobe to look over, a trunk to pack and money to take from the strong vault where his old family sil— ver and such funds as he and his brother owned were kept. He knew not how lon he would have to be absent, neither how much money he might need, but, advised by his brother, he resolved to enough in gold and paper to support him and his dear child handsomely while gone, should it be ill year or more, instead of only a month as both 0 . or but six weeks, or eight at best w'ould elapse ere navigation in that extreme latitude would be closed for the winter. Then a long and dreary lapse of six or seven months would ensue. when all intercourse with the Southern world wouldbe closed and no possible means of cor- respondence open, except b Indian couriers, who could, and sometimes 'd, on snow-shoes. tl'liNel‘SB the icy wastes to the settlements far ow. The ca tain of the swift little mail pa cket was surpri , but not disagreeably, when Monsieur Duprét and his lovely daughter came on board to take passe e with him to Quebec. For, lon as he had sai ed to and from the inlet, they hag never before put foot on his deck, though he had made many pin-chases and executed man com- missions for them in his many voyages. 6 had always been a. welcome guest at the house, and though a Protestant and an Englishman, he was 9 E0) a great favmfite with the good, priest, who had many co a ,, .~ w: r to intrust him with. In truth. Lu?” all the supplies for the hamlet were broug b the packet, and its master, good J ohii Odell: had a Very profitable trade with the Indians, taking their furs and bringing back powder, lead, fish—haiku, blankets and other things which they needed. Throuin the influence of the good.fatlier they were fast becoming civilized, and that, too, Without lcarnln to use “fire-watA-r ”—oiie of the curses of aim {cation too often introduced to their race. The sun was just setting behind the forest tram in a. bank of dark cloudiwhen Monsieur Duprét and his daughter were welcomed on board the packet by Captain He always gave the En llsh termination to her name when he spoke to iii: Duprét, calling her MiSSNelisaa, instead of M45889, as pronounc— ed b her father. “ ’ou’re ht welcome aboard the Osprey, mounseer, an you, too, Miss Melissa,” he said, as they stepped on board, their baggage follow- ing, borne on the shoulders of two stout seamen, whom the captain had sent after it. “ The sun sets rather ugly, but the wind will be off-shore if it is fresh!” he said, as he ushered them down into his snug little cabin. “ We can hug the land and kee ) in smooth water, so you’ll both have a good nig t’s rest!” “ I hope it will not storm, for I am a great coward on the water!” confessed Melisse. “It may blow some, but the sloop is stanch and weatherly—have no fear. The steward will have supper before we strike the swell outside l” was the old captain’s assurance as he went on deck. “ Up with the canvas fore and aft!” was his next order. The sails were up in a few seconds, for they were light and the tackle for hoisting handy. Then came the order: “ Cast off 1” and, loosened from the pier, the little packet sped away on her return voyage. The steward, a blithe Frenchman, set the table as soon as the vessel started, and aided by the Canadian cook, had a most appetizing meal ——venison. fish and wild ducks, with delicious coffee. before the assengers. Haviii iven t 1e helnisman the course, Cap- tain Odel eft the deck in charge of the mate, and came down to sup with his guests. “ Did you meet any strange vessel in your voyage up?” asked Miss Duprét, after the cap- tain was seated. “Yes, Miss Melissa—we met a very large, swift-going schooner running down the coast. I hailed her, and got some answer in an out- landish tongue I couldn’t understand, and then she was out of sight, for it was in the night before I made the light at the mouth of the inlet.” “ It was the privateer; they answered your hail in Spanish,’ said Miss Du rét. “Spanish or Dutch would all the same to me, ma’am—just like Greek. I can get over some French, because I hear so much of that—the cook and steward are eternally jabbering in it. \Vhat was a Iprivatem doing away up here out of the way 0 ships and people!“ “ Th cy came here to rest and get fish and ven- ison. and to refit their schooner, they said.” “ “'hci‘e did she hail from f" “ She was from Mexico. so they stated.” “ Ah, yes; S in and Mexico are at war, I re- member. “'e 1. she was a clipper to o. Ihove my craft up in the Wind‘s eye to spc ' her—but it was a swash and she was gone!" Supper was all over, and Melisse, with her father, was on deck, when the packet rounded the mint on which the light-house stood that mar ed the entrance to the inlet. The western sky, usually crowned with a rosy hue so early in the morning, was dark now-overlaid wit black, swift—flying clouds. ' The good old captain—no better Seaman ever trod a deck—called out to the watch to take a single reef in the mainsail and ordered the bon- net taken off the jib. This done the sheets were trimmed for the wind abeam, and keeping well in with the land, the sloop went down the coast at ten knots to the hour easily. As they were in smooth water this 5 ed was delightful to all hands, for it promi a short return-trip. as well as a safe one. Melisse, having her dear father with her,. ', happy, for she was used to the water, and if she was hastening to those who were dear to her betrothed lover, and would also be likely very soon to meet him. Two hours later, close to the land as they were, they had to closereef all the sails, and soon af- ter only the mainsail, reefed down, was kept on the craft, for the wind had risen to a gale—~such a tem t as would have been dangerous to the stanc little craft had she been a few miles fur- ther out. Melisse and her father lingered lo on deck— not that they feared danger, for t e captain told them that he could enter safe harbors every few leagues if he desired, buti’t seemed so strange to hear the wild surges leaving and dashing in the offing, and yet to bowl along so fast in smooth water under such scanty canvas. Only men who knew every fathom of the coast line would have dared to run within a cable's length of the shore, as Captain Odell did, but he was on a bold coast, and had no cause to fear reefs or rocks or shoals until a long way further south. , At midnight the watch was changed, but the captain st' remained on deck, thou 'h his pas- sengers had retired to their berths. e was a man to keep double watch when be deemed it was necessary, and he would not trust to others the duty he believed to be his own. CHAPTER XX. THE DOOM OF THE COASTER. LUMBERIXG along on a southerly course, the Diablocito in her new rig had nearly reached the latitude of Halifax, and was not more than sixty or seventy miles east of the coast, when, just as day dawned, her captain found his craft nearly alongside a huge brig with a hull full as blunt and ugly as his own. Lieutenant Marvel had the watch, and he hailed her just as Spirifort came on deck. “ Brig ahoy!” he cried, “ where from and where bound?” “The brig Tomboy, from Halifax. bound to the West Indies for a market—cargo staves and puncheons!” was the answer. " “'liat schooner is that?” "The Sally Ann, from GreenOck. in ballast, bound in for a cargo!" replied Marvel, directed byS irifort. “ If you have late papers, heave toa it, so we can get thr- news. and well give you a keg of ' mountain doll" that never saw a gaugcr's stamp.” “ All right! Round in head braces! a-lee!” came the prompt answer. As the brig came up in the wind, Spirifort said in a low tone: “ La him aboard! All hands on deck! This fellow as the very cargo we want. It is eas ’ to handle, good for a Southern market, and w' 1 hide our guns till we want to use them I" If everan were suddenly astonished, it was the officers and crew of the brig—only about a dozen all. told—when they saw the schooner thrown directly alongside, to windward, while her crew of near one hundred men came pouring up. from below and instantly sprung on the bi‘ig's deck. “ “'hat does this mean?” shouted the captain of the, brig, angrily, as Spirifort called to his men to lash the two crafts together. “ It means that I want a part of your cargo!” answered the chief, coolly. “ You can have it al , if you'll pay for it!” said the Halifax man, turning pale when he saw that the men who boarded him were all armed, _ “ I’ll pay you in my own wa ' was the sneer- ing answer. “Men, seize an bind every man and officer belonging to the brig and pitch them here in the lee gangway. Then carry this deck- load aboard our own craft, fast as you can. Mr. Marvel, see to the stowage on our deck, while the second mate looks out below I” “ This is an outrage!” yelled the captain of the bri . “ I a it it; but don’t only commenced our wor Hard ble yet! We have I’ll look over your *u-www‘ a. ... A w. M n 9.- ..” wwrny-c an...“ w‘wa-nmmvmwnmmwm in... M . v‘n'fi‘mu mnu..