{I I. ,. l x. v ‘, ' ~I\\\ _ .s.3/7_.'.’:;_r - , g 7 . K _ ‘l U given to the helmsman, and the schooner plunged forward for her voyage across the blue Atlantic. And in the after cabin were two disconsolates. One was Clamorah, the other Nicodemus Sparkle. Both were sea-sick. “Gosh all hemlock. I’m goin’ all to pieces,” groaned the latter. “ Oh, why ever was I born to suffer thus?” The mulatto girl was “ too full for utterance.” Whiter than she ever was before, she bent over a slop-bucket and—She was not quite so full when she raised her head again. How poor Lucille felt no one knew. Locked in her room, for she had fastened it inside, she remained, making no complaint, asking no favors. So passed the night so far as she was con- cerned. Another day dawned, the Schooner tossed and pitched in a heavy sea, the wind now so fresh that under her three lower sails, reefed down, she had all the canvas she could stand up under. Clamorah and poor Nicodemus still wallowed in the dread abyss of sea-sickness. One lay prone on the floor in one corner of the cabin, without pillow or covering, limp, hopeless, wretched. The other had got up on the settee next the transom, and as he groaned “ GOSh all hemlock" now and then. seemed to have given up all thought of a future or a past. His present was all he could endure. A ain Lucille was tempted with a breakfast, the est the cook and steward could prepare. She came from her room. ate some toast, drank a glass Of water, and then locked herself in once more. Le Clare did not intrude himself upon her notiCHhe quietly kept an eye on her move- ments, without appearing to do so. As Captain Coffin now stood his watch, it gave the former all his time to himself. CHAPTER XLV. THE RED GAUNTLET OFF—FIRE AT SEA—THE VAILED LADY. WITHIN three hours from the arrival of the courier with his news all hands were on board the Red Gauntlet. The courier was sent on shore in the boat that brought off the last ab- sentees, and as he mounted his horse to start on the first stage of his return journey the schooner’s sails were spread to the breeze. and she headed east for her fli ht across the ocean. Harry Brent seemed 1' 'e a new man to his oflicers and crew. Before he had been the gayest, most light-hearted creature on the ves- sel. Now, silent. moody and stern he paced the deck, sometimes watching the compass. fretting if sail was not carried for all the spars were worth. He ate scarcely anything—he seemed to be sleepless! _ , “ Mon capitalize—if this continuesyou will die and on rescue not La Belle Lucille, neither will vou ave ze power to revenge!” ‘ This is what the good chevalier said to Harry Brent when the third day passed, and pale, wea ' and hollow-eyed. he walked the quarter-deck and refused to go down to supper when called. “ You are right—good, true old friend! But it is so hard! Night and day I hear her voice as I heard it in that dream, calling on me for help, and I cannot reach out a hand to save her!” “ Are you not sailing so fast as you can to her rescue.’ Call on ze bOIl Dieu to make your heart strong and be still—what you call patient—you eveare have ze good fortune. Hope yet for ze same! Eat and drink, and keep strong, for if you meet him—ze monster who ’ave done all ziS wrong. you must keel him!” “ X es-yes—eveii had he twenty lives they would not suflice for the agony she must endure. .. You are right, chevalier, I will be a man I” And Harry went to his table and once more -' took food heartily and drank his coffee as he for- merly did. And he sle t—slept his whole night watch be- low, and wolke fresh and vigorous, for a bath and breakfast on the fourth day out The wind had hauled a little, but it threw him very slightly to leeward of his course, close— hauled, and the schooner made fine speed. Mr. Coffin said the Gulf Stream would make up for their leeway. They had sighted several sails from aloft, but Harry Brent would not var a point from his course to discover who or w at they were. He had but one point to reach, one point to carry out. Five. six days had passed, and the same mo- notony prevai ed. Watches regularly relieved, two hours’ drill, morning and evening. inspec— tion. and nothing more. On the seventh day. a little before the mid— watch was called, a sail was sighted dead ahead. The lookout said she was square-rigged, and at first sight supposed her coming westward, al- most head on. But as she rose slowly to sight, it was soon known aloft and on deck, she was standing the same way that the Red Gauntlet was steering. The watch was relieved—the men had dinner and the officers dined as usual. The strange sail ahead rose slowly until with the glass it could be seen she was a Ship, carrying a press of sail, but she was still too far Off for the privateers- men to know her character. Harry Brent, though he noticed her, seemed to care very little what she was—whether friend or foe. He was not yet near the point where he might hope to intercept the vessel he hoped to meet, and she was of a different rig. The day passed, and they neared the stranger slowly, but surely. At sunset she was hull up, and Mr. Cofiin had reported her a merchantman, though he could make out no colors. She had fallen to leeward so far the Red Gauntlet, if she held her course. would pass two or three miles to windward of her. ‘ The wind had freshened to a full topsail gale, the sea was heavy, but the schooner rode over it like a bird, scarce a drop of spray wetting her snow—white deck. Seth Coffin respected the mood of the young captain too much to suggest bearing down to- ward the ship, which, though she had shown no colors—for none were raised on the schooner— was evidently English. Night fell. very dark, and to windward the sky looked threatening. They had reduced sail to top