A Hidden Foe.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 992, 6 March 1891, Page 10

A Hidden Foe.

[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.]

A STORY OF LOVE AND MYSTERY.

By G. aThENTY. Author of ‘The Curse of Carne’s Hold, * Gabriel Allen, M.P./ &c., &c.

[All Rights Reserved."] chapter xvt. Not until daylight broke did Constance Corbyn close an eye. She been looking forward to her triumph, to the discomfiture of her enemy, to overwhelming him with scorn and contempt. Everything succeeded according to her expectations ; she had taken him completly by surprise, one by one she had formulated her charges, and had told him that she had regarded him as the meanest villain on earth. What had been the result 1 He had told her that her charges were false, false from first to last. He had denied that he was aware of her identity, or that he even knew she was on board. He had declared, too, that Constance Corbyn was the last woman in the world he would marry.

Could all this be true, or was it but a piece of acting in keeping with all she previously thought of him ? She tried to persuade herself that it was so, but failed altogether. As he had spoken, an absolute conviction seized her that he was speaking the truth, and that there had been some terrible mistake. ‘ The happiness of my life has been at stake, and I have lost.’ Surely he could not have been lying, for taken by surprise as he must have been, accused of treachery, of a crime, of deceit and baseness —and this at a moment when he must have expected a favourable reply to the words of love he had spoken—was it possible that he could have rallied so soon,, and while congratulating her upon her victory, have crushed her beneath a feeling that she had committed a terrible error, an error which involved her happiness as well as his.

Then her thoughts turned to the word s, had he known that Constance Corbyn was on board the ship, he would have shunned her as the pests ; she was the last of all women in the world he would marry. c What does he mean ? what can he mean V she repeated to herself scores of times. ‘ What have I done that he should speak so of me? Does he think me so unmaidenly for thus coming forward to struggle for my rights, for thus striving to clear the memory of my dead mother V And thus the long hours of the night passed, until exhaustion at last closed her eyes. She did not wake until nearly noon. Annette was sitting beside her, working, with a look of grave concern in her face. The events of the past evening came in a rush upon the girl. ‘ What is it, ma> petite 1 what has happened 1 tell your old nurse. ’ Constance held out her arms. Annette threw herself on her knees beside the berth and took her in her arms, and as the girl burst into a passion of tears, soothed and caressed her, as she had done in the troubles of her childhood. ‘Tell me all about it, dear,’ she said at last, as the sobs gradually ceased. ‘lt is about Mr Brown, that goes without saying. Tell me all, Constance j you know I am never haid with you. Have you made a mistake, have you found out that you deceived vourself when you said you did not care for him. ‘I will tell you, Annette. You must know that I found out the first hour after we come on board that htr Brown was Philip Clitheroe.’ «Are you losing your senses, ma petite f Annette exclaimed, in more anxiety than surprise. ‘ I did not tell you,’ Constance went on, without heeding the interruption, ‘because I knew that you would not approve of my plan, that you would keep him at a distance, and that he would soon see that we knew him. Then she went on to tell all particulars, how she knew him by sight, how she had played her part throughout, and how, when Philip Clitheroe had told her of his love she had poured out her indignation and scorn upon him. ‘ And you did rightly,’ Annette said, earnestly. ‘I see not that you have anything to reproach yourself with. This coquin deserved all that you said to him. I would have said as much and more had I known who he was.’ * Yes, Annette, but I was wrong all th,© time. He did not know me, he.

had no idea that Miss Corbyn was aboard.’

‘ Bah !’ Annette said, with disdain, ‘ you believe that story 1 I thought you wiser, child. Of course a knave will lie when he is found out.’ ‘ I will tell you what he said, nurse, and you shall judge for yourself,’ and she repeated without the change of a word what Philip Clitheroe had said, for every word seemed burnt into her brain.

‘ Well, we shall see, child,’ Annette said, ‘ but do not fret over it. The matter will come right in time, these things always come right in time, and you see he acknowledged that it was natural that you should have thought as you did. He will see that you are not to blame in the matter, and will have no harsh feelings towards you. If what he says is true he may be a worthy and honourable gentleman.’ Constance shook her head. ‘ If I have wronged him I have wronged him beyond forgiveness/ she said. ‘ I have fooled him and led him on and then spurned him. I have called him a traitor, a thief, and a mean villain. Set us say no more about it, it is done, and it is irremediable.’ Annette was too wise to attempt to argue, but she had her own opinions. She had in the course of her life seen many quarrels between young men and young women, and knew that if they cared for each other the quarrels were generally made up in the end. That Philip Clitheroe did care for Constance she had been, convinced after the first week of their voyage. As to the girl’s feelings she had been altogether at fault, but she thought it probable that whatever Constance might have previously thought of him, her strong conviction that she had treated him with cruel injustice would tell immensely in his favour. Annette had been too wise a woman ever to bint to Constance that she thought the possession of the Corbyn estates could be far better settled by an arrangement between the claimants than in a law court ; but the idea had often occurred to her, and it now seemed to her more than ever that this would be the satisfactory conclusion of the affair. Constance did not leave her cabin until the evening, but she insisted upon Annette going up on deck for a time to enjoy the fresh air. A few minutes after she had taken her seat Philip Clitheroe came up, and lifting his hat, as usual, said, ‘May I say a word to you, Madame V and then sat down in the chair beside her. ‘ You will have heard what happened between me and Miss Corbyn last night,’ he went on. ‘ I do not wish to discuss it, and I speak at present merely for her sake. You know how people gossip on board a steamer. It has doubtless been noticed and commented upon that I have been a good deal in company with you and her. If it is observed that we no longer speak, it will be coupled with her sudden illness yesterday evening, and will be made the subject of talk and conjecture. Had it not been for her illness I should have naturally abstained from addressing you or her. People would have said that I had proposed and had been rejected, and that 1 had taken it to heart and was sulking. That would not have mattered at all, but her illness might give rise to other conjectures, and blame might fall upon her. Therefore,-I propose, with your permission and her’s, that for the short time we shall remain on board together, our intercourse should not be entirely broken off, and that at least I should render to you the ordinary civilities of a gentleman to two ladies of his acquaintance. Have I your permission to do this ?’ • Certainly, monsieur, and I thank you,’ Madame Duport said. ‘ Constance looks very ill, and it will seem natural that she should not wish to talk as before. What you propose will save her from painful comment, and I thank you.’ Philip sat talking for a few minutes in a cold and constrained voice upon different subjects, and then left her, and a few minutes later Annette got up and again went down to the cabin. Con stance shivered when she heard the arrangement that had been made. ‘ I do not like it, Annette. I do not care what people might think and say. Anything would be better than having to speak to him.’ ‘ It is for the best, my dear,’ Annette said, decidedly. ‘You must not be talked about; anything is better than that. It is not for long, and you will have but little to say to him. You look so ill, it will be easily understood that you need quiet and rest, and are unfit for conversation. It is in all respects the best, and whateyer be the truth as

to this strange affair, Mr Clitheroe is behaving like a thoughtful gentleman in his proposal.’ When Constance came up in the evening with Annette, Philip Clitheroe met them as usual at the top of the companion, took the shawls Annette had brought up, walked beside them to their chairs and seated them thexe, and as other passengers came up to inquire how Constance felt, gravely expressed his hope that she was better. Annette answered for her.

‘ My niece is better, but, as you may see, she is still weak and unfit to talk. I fear she will be some time before she is herself again.’ The wan face of the girl spoke for itself. Even in the twilight the pallor of her face and tbe dark rings round her eyes were unmistakable signs of the truth of what Annette said. She was evidently absolutely unfit for conversation, and the change that the twentyfour hours had made in her appearance was so startling that the voices were hushed, and all drew off silently, leaving Annette and Constance to themselves. In half an hour Philip returned.

‘I think, Madame Renan, that we are going to have a change of weather, he said, quietly. ‘ There is a dullness about the sky, and you see there are no stars visible, and the moon is rising red and dull. have been very fortunate so far, but I think chat we are likely to have a storm before long. There is* an oily look on the water, and I heard the first mate tell the chief engineer just now that the glass was falling rapidly.’ * Oh, I hope we shall not have a storm,’ Annette said. I hate storms. I think we will go below now ; will you please give my niece your arm.’ Constance uttered a little exclamation of objection, but Philip paid no attention to it. He gravely held out his hand to help her to her feet. Constance felt so weak that she was forced to herself of his arm. Annette collected the shawls hastily, and moved after them. ‘Thank you,’ she said, when she reached the top of the companion. ‘ I will help my niece down. Will you kindly bring the shawls V

He left them at the door of the cabin.

‘I will not go up any more,’ Constance said, as she threw herself down on her berth. ‘ I will not leave the cabin again until we reach Melbourne.’ The weather bad changed still further before morning ; the wind had got up, although it could not as yet be said to be blowing hard, and the sea had begun to rise and the air was thick and hazy. * What do you think of it V Philip Clitheroe asked the second officer, who had come ofi duty at eight bells. ‘ Don’t quite know what to think of it/ he replied. ‘ The glass has been going down since yesterday, but slowly, not like the sudden drop that generally is before bad weather in these seas. No doubt we are going to have some wind, how much I cannot say, but I don’t think it will be anything of a gale. It is a queer looking sky, too, for these parts. One expects thick weather in the Atlantic, but one doesn’t often get it here, and it is getting thicker too.’ Daring the day the wind increased steadily and was blowing half a gale by night fall. The weather was still thick, but was patchy, at times clearing up so that the sky could be seen overhead, while five minutes afterwards clouds of vapour seemed to sweep down and they could scarce see a ship’s length around them. To the passengers the change was not an unpleasant one after the long spell of fine weather and cloudless skies they had been having. The motion of the vessel was not too great to prevent walking on deck, and the question whether the wind would increase to a gale afforded a topic of conversation and argument very welcome in the monotony of a sea voyage. Constance Corbyn had not left her cabin all day. Madame Duport came out at meal times and reported that her niece did not seem to be able to shake off the effects of her fainting fit. She had a headache, and the ship’s doctor, who had seen her that morning, had said that she had best keep quiet for a day or two. No doubt she felt the heat and was low and nervous. In a few days they would get cooler weather, which would set her up again. There was nothing to be at all uneasy about. If not uneasy, Philip Clitheroe had been worried and uncomfortable during the forty-eight hours that had elapsed since he had spoken to Constance. The first night he had not gone below, as sleep was out of the question, and putting on an ulster to keep out the

heavy night dews, he passed the hours alternately pacing up and down the deck and leaning against the bulwark rail gazing out over the sea. He had had a terrible blow, a blow at once to his love and to his selfrespect ; and his indignation was at first almost greater than his disappointment. He was conscious that he had done all that an honourable man could do. It was horrible to have been suspected of such things as those of which Constance had accused him, and which were all the harder to bear inasmuch as the words had not been spoken in an outburst of anger, but with a bitter sarcasm that had cut like a knife. But that he should have been so accused gave him but comparatively little concern. The wound that had firstsmarted the most was the thought that while he had hoped and thought that his love for this girl was returned, she had all the time been playing with him, that she had led him on to speak simply that she might avenge the wrong she thought he had done her by thus unmasking him. He felt the pain of this more keenly at fix’st than that of the disappointment of his hopes, and for a time was more angxy than grieved ; but dui’ing the long hours of the night watch his anger died out.

Thinking it all over as he had heard the story from James Fei-ris, he saw it was perfectly natural that when she saw him come on boai’d under an assumed name, she should have suspected that he it was who had been striving to prevent her from obtaining the proofs she sought. He was alone interested in doing so; he had been present with Ferris when her letters to her father were found j and she might well think that he had come upon some other document which had convinced him that her claim was a just one, and had at the same time given him such particulars as to the marriage and its witnesses as enabled him at once to take steps to thwart her.

Whom else could she suspectj James Fends, who knew all the circumstances, admitted that he was altogether puzzled, and this girl, who did not know him, could only suspect that it was his work. When therefore she saw him on board, she could not but conclude that his object was either to forestall her in her search in Australia, as she believed he had done in that at home, or to protect himself by securing her hand. In that case the course she had taken was a natural one, and she had led him on to discover his object only to humiliate and shame him by telling him he had been acting a part all along and how base a thing he was.

She was not to be blamed. Here was she, without a friend in the world, save this good old nurse of hers, coming alone and unaided to England to prove what she believed to be her rights, and finding herself met with the foxilest manoeuvres, her footsteps dogged, the precious register, which would have cleared her mother’s name and proved her rights, foully absti-acted ; what thought coxild she entertain of him whom she had good reason to believe her seci-et enemy but hatred and contempt ? It must have been hard for her to play her part so well, when at heart she must have loathed him. Her sudden bi-eakdown when it was over showed how great the strain had been. Well, she would know in time that she had been mistaken. When she got the letter fi'om Ferris, who would he supposed sent it through his friend Harbut, she woixld see that he could not have been acting as she had accused him of doing. Hot that it would make any difference to him ; he should never see her again, for if the crime of which she had charged him was not his, it was his mother’s, done for his sake, and would stand like a wall between them—a barrier that nothing could overcome. What a fatality that he should have embarked in the same ship ! How did it come about 1

Then he thought over his conversation with Ferris, and remembered that when he said that he had not made up his mind whether to go to the colonies or to the United States, Ferris had at once suggested Australia, and said that a steamer would sail in a couple of days, and that he himself had adopted the idea becaxxse the search for Morson would give him an object on first landing. Yes ;it was entirely Jim’s doing, and now he thought of it, it was likely —nay. it was almost certain—that he must at the time have known that his cousin would be on board that ship, and that they would come together. Ferris could not have known that Constance knew him by sight, and could but have had one object in thus throwing them together.

He had told him what a charming girl this cousin of his was, and might well have thought that he would fall in love with hei-, and that a pleasant solution of the difficulty might be arrived at. Jim knew nothing of this other terrible business, and such an enefing to the affair would have seemed to him the most desirable that could be arrived at.

‘ As far as I was concerned, his idea —for I have no doubt that it was his idea—tui’ned out a correct one j but instead of bringing me, as he expected, safe into port, it has been the finishing blow to me. I should have forgot the other business in time ; in fact, I seemed to have done so already. Thinking I had set matters right before I sailed, and that Constance would be at once placed in possession of the Court, and that the injury could thus be atoned for, I had pxit it aside and thought of nothing else but this girl. I suppose I shall get over this too in time, but it is hard to think that she will always despise me. She will know when she gets Jim’s letter that I had no thought of keeping her out of her rights, but she will always think I came on board this ship with the intention of making love to her before she knew that her claim to Corbyn Court was acknowledged. I denied it to her yesterday, but she will never believe my denial, and my statement that Constance Corbyn was the last woman in the woi'ld I would marry will seem to her a pitiable lie, coined to meet the occasion, for she will never know that my mother’s crime stands between us.’

Philip was not surprised when next day Constance did not leave her cabin. ‘ She doesn’t mean to see me again/ he said. ‘ I could feel how she shrank from me last night, how her hand trembled with indignation when she put it on my arm. I dai’e say she is really unwell; it has been enough to make hei', pool- child. It must be an awful time for hei', thinking that I was playing a part all the time, and smiling and being pleasant, and hiding her knowledge and fooling me to the top of my bent, while she loathed me like poison. I am a most unfortunate beggar, there is no doubt. Well, I will have one more pipe and turn in/ he said, as he pacel the deck restlessly late that evening. ‘ It is of no use thinking and worrying any more. I did not sleep many hours last night, and none at all the night before, so I hope I shall go off to-night as soon as I turn in. It is no use crying over spilt milk, and 1 have got health and strength and means to give me a new start and a reserve to fall back upon if I fail. I have made a mull of it so far, and I have got to set my teeth hard and begin afresh. There is no going back to Clitheroe now with her at Corbyn Court, so I have got to make up my mind to build up a new home in Australia and stick to it. I shall be better off than men who can never get over their hankerings to be in the old country again. Hello ! What’s that ? There was a shout from the look-out on the bow of ‘ Ship a-head/ followed instantaneously by the order from the officer on the bridge, ‘ Hard a-port, hard a-port for your life,’ and the sharp ring of the engine bell. In a moment Philip sprang up on to the forecastle and looked ahead. Dooming through the mist, about a cable’s length away, was a ship in the act of ci-ossing the steamer’s bows, and he saw at once that a collision was inevitable. It was too late for the rudder to affect the steamer’s course, and she must strike the vessel somewhere amidships; Another ten seconds and the crash would come, and to avoid the wreck of falling spars Philip spx-ang down from the fo’castle again, as did the man on the look out. He ran a few yards and then grasped the rail to steady himself for the shock. He had scarcely done so when thei-e was a terrible crash. The great steamer shook from stem to stern, there was a sound of crashing timber and falling spars, and then a momentary silence, for tho screw had ceased to revolve the moment the blow was given j shouts and screams then rose under her bow, while a confusion of noises broke out on board the steamer. The sailors poured out from the fo’castle just as they had sprung from their berths, the watch came running forwai*d, and screams were heard from below. Then came a stern shout from the officer on the bridge : ‘ Silence below there. All hands to your stations at the boats ; see that they are ready to be cleared away and lowered at once. We shall have to save these on board the ship we have run into. Quartermaster, go to the bow and see, if you can, whether we have sustaiped any damage/

‘There was a moment’s pause, and then came the order : * Lower down the two lifeboats. Steady my lads, but as quick as you can; she is going. Ah, good Heavens, she has gone!’ It was but half a minute since the collision had taken place, but the captain and other officers had already appeared on deck, having only stopped, as they leapt from their berths, to pull on their trousers. ‘Mr Thompson, do you take command of the port lifeboat; do you take command of the starboard boat, Mi* Green,’ the captain ox*dei*ed. ‘Do you say that she has gone down, Mr Hawkins V * Yes, sir. She had but just cleared us when she went down; we must have cut her nearly in half. We did not catch sight of her through the mist until we were our own length off. I stopped the engines at once and ordered “ hard astern,” but our way could scai'cely have been checked when we struck her.’ ‘ What was she V ‘ She was a barque, sir, of seven or eight hundred tons, I should say.’ ‘ Are we much damaged V ‘ I cannot say, sir ; I have sent the quartermaster forward to examine her.’ ‘ 1 will go and have a look for myself,’ the captain said. Just at this moment the quartermaster hailed the officer on watch : * Her stem is badly bent, sir, and some of the plates have started.’ * I will take the command, Mr Hawkins. Do you get a gang at once, and open the fore hatchway, and see if the collision bulkhead is all right, Take the carpenter down with you and get some spars and see that it is wedged up and strengthened as much as you can. Quartermaster*, send and get some blue lights and light up so that the boats can keep ns in sight. Any of the stewards there V ‘Yes, sir,’ several voices exclaimed.

* Well, just go below and tell the passengers that there is no immediate dangex*. I hope no danger at all. Tell them to di-ess themselves, and if possible to stop that screaming and hubbub. Taking a blue light fx*om the quartermaster’s hand as soon as he came up, the captain lit it and went to the bow, and holding it over his head leant over the rail to examine the injury. ‘Bo’swain,’ he shouted, as he handed the blue light to the quartermastei*, ‘ get a sail up at once. We must stretch it over the bows. Thei'e is no stopping the leak, but it may ease the pressure on the bulkhead.’ ‘How. gentlemen,’ he said, as he went aft and met several of the male passengers who had hui'ried up halfdressed, ‘I must trouble you all either to go below or to keep well aft. You will only be in the way forward and can be of no assistance. Tell everyone to dress quietly in warm clothes and to gather any valuables they may have in a small bundle. Thei'e is no immediate danger, but there is nothing like everyone being prepared.’ The passengers retired aft and Philip descended to the second class cabin. The other male passengers had run up on deck, the two ladies’ maids had gone aft to the main saloon. Philip went to Madame Duport’s cabin and knocked. ‘ Are you dressed, Madame V he asked.

The door opened and Annette came oat wrapped up in shawls. ‘ What is the matter, Mr Clitheroe V Annette asked. ‘ We felt a tex*rible shock, but have heard nothing since, but from the runnifag about on deck we are sure something has happened. The stewai’d came and said something, but there was such a noise of shouting and screaming from some of the passengers that we could not hear what it was.’ ‘ We have been in collision with a large ship, and have, I am sorry to say, sunk her. Two of the boats are away trying to pick up some of her crew. We have stove in our bows, but it is hoped that the bulkhead will hold. But it is well to take all precautions. There is no occasion for haste, but I should advise you to dress comfortably in the clothes which would be most suitable for a long voyage in a boat. Each take a small bundle or bag with such things as are most absolutely "*■ requisite ; and should we be obliged to take to the boats, which I sincerely trust will not be the case, put on as many shawls and cloaks as you can; you will find them very useful. You can do all this quietly and without haste. I will come down from time to time to let you know how things are going on.’ ‘ Thank you,’ Annette said, quietly; * we will take you advice, Mr Clitheroe.’ The young man hesitated for a

moment as if he wanted to say more, then turned and went to his own cabin. He opened his own portmanteau, put on a flannel shirt instead of what he was wearing, placed a pocket-book with some letters and papers in his pocket, put on a pea-jacket over his velveteen coat, and strapped up a bundle of rugs. ‘ Let me see, is there anything else that I may want V Ah, yes ; this may be the most useful of all,’ and he took up a revolver from the portmanteau, dropped it into one pocket and a box of cartridges into anothei*. He chose a long clasp knife from the articles he had been persuaded to buy at the outfitter’s, and a large flash which he had had filled with brandy. He took off his coats and slung this by its strap over his sliouldei*, and then put on his coats again. ‘ That may be a last resoux'ce,’ he muttered * and I had best keep it hidden. That is about all, I think. ‘ Oh, I will add those two waterproof cloaks to the bundle; all the rest must go.’ Having thus made his preparations, he went up on deck just as he heard the engines again in l'otation. The boats had returned, and the crews were hoisting them up to the davits. ‘ Have you found anyone V he asked one of the men. * Hot a sign of one. We found some pieces of wreckage, but not a soul. ’ Philip was not surpi'ised. The catastrophe had been so sudden that no one below would have time to get xxp on deck, and those on the watch had doubtless been carried down with the sinking ship. The steamer was rolling heavily in the trough of the waves. Looking over the side he saw by the white foam that the engines were i*eversed and the vessel going astern. A great spout of water was pouring from her side.

‘ They are using the circulating pumps to keep down the water-,’ he said to himself. *J am afraid there is no doubt that the bulk-head has given way to some extent. It is a bad lookout, especially in such weather as I am afraid we are going to have.’

Presently one of the engineei’S, with whom he had often chatted, came on deck.

‘ So you have set the main engine to pump, I see.’ ‘ Yes, she is taking in water fast through that bulkhead, or else, as is more likely, after such a smash some of the plates have opened aft of it. It is nearly up to the stoke-hole gratings already. lam afraid it is all up with the Aden. Eortunately we are not a very full ship, and the boats will cany us well enough. See, they are making preparations already.’ As he spoke some of the stewards came along carrying cases and barrels, which they placed in the boat abreast of where they where standing. The second officer came hurrying along. ‘ Can I be of any use V Philip asked. ‘ Yes, the captain has just called for volunteer’s to help to get up stores.’ Philip l'an down below and again knocked at Madame Duport’s cabin. ‘ I don’t wish to alarm you,’ he said, as Madame Dupox’t and Constance both came to the dooi’, ‘ there is no immediate danger whatever, but the water is coming in, and I fear that we shall certainly have to take to the boats, though I hope not for some hours. I am now going to help to get up provisions, so may not be able to come for some little time. There is sui'e to be ample 'yarning before we take to the boats. Would you not rather go aft to the saloon, you will find all the other ladies there.’

‘ I think we would rather stay wbei’e we are,’ Madame Duport said. ‘ What do you say, Constance V ‘ Yes, I think we may as well remain here,’ Constance agreed. ‘We ai’e as safe in one place as anothei*. Mr Clitheroe,’ she said, moving past Annette, ‘I may not get an opportunity of speaking to you again, we may not be in the same boat, we may neither of us ever reach land. I wish to tell you that I believe all that you said to me the other evening, that I am sure you have acted as an honourable gentleman, and I regret—oh! so deeply—that I should have thought you otherwise. Can you forgive what I said to you 1 Eemember,’ she went on pleadingly, as he was silent for a moment, ‘ that I am but a girl, that I may be soon going to face death, and that it will be so hard to die knowing that I have so ci'uelly wronged you.’ * I forgive you heartily and wholly, cousin Constance,’ he said, taking both her hands, ‘ if there be anything to forgive. You have been cruelly wronged, and though—as God hears me—it was

not I who wronged you, it was natural you should have thought so, and that thinking so you should have spokon as you did. I have not blamed you for a moment, for in jour place I should have acted pi’ecisely as you did. God bless you, little cousin. I trust that there ai*e happy days in store for you yet;’ and stooping down he kissed the girl’s foi'eliead, and then, dropping her hands, hui’ried off, and was soon engaged with a number of other passengers in carrying up stores and placing them in boats, under the directions of the second officex*, the other officers being at work forward with the crew, endeavouring by means of piled up bedding and blankets to stop the inrush of the water.

It took some houi*s hai’d work to get all the casks and boxes required sorted out fi'om the mass below, taken up on deck and stowed away in the boats; and the morning was breaking before the work was completed. Hot coffee, grog and biscuits, were handed round when the wox*k was done, and Philip took two mugs of the coffee and some biscuits, and carried them forward. ‘ I think we shall not be long before we take our places in the boat,’ he said, when the ladies came out, in his usual cheerful voice, ‘ and you must make as good as meal as you can befor-e you are called up. Then, I think you had better go aft to the saloon so as to embark with the other ladies.’

Constance looked at Madame Duport, who said, ‘ Do all the ladies go in one boat together 1 ?’ ‘ As a rule in case of hurry,’ he said, ‘ the women always embark first; but I slioixld think here they will fie told off between the larger boats so that their husbands and sons can be in the same boats with them.’

*We hope that you will be in the boat with us, Mr Clitheroe. It would be a great comfort to us to be with some one we know. Besides, as you are C instance’s cousin, you ai*e her lxatural protector.’ ‘ I shall certaixrly try to go in the same boat with you. I will go aft and see what arrangements have been made that way.’ ‘ We will wait hex*e until you come back anyhow,’ Annette said. He returned in a few minixtes saying that the lists had been made xip, and that the four female second cabin passengei*s were told off to the boat hanging on the starboai'd side opposite the door leading down to the cabin. * I was in the boat on the other side,’ he said, ‘ but I have just spoken to Davis, one of our fellow passengers who was in your boat, and have got him to change places. Of course it made no difference to him, so he will answer to my name when it is called and I shall answer to his. These two boats are nothing like so large as many of the others, but I think you will be quite as comfortable in them, as there being so few women we can manage to make more room for yotx than would be possible in the lai’ger ones. The second engineer is in charge of the boat. He is a very good fellow, and will, I am sure, do everything to make you comfortable.’ A short time afterwards the bell rang sharply, as a signal for the passengers to come up and take their places. The ship was alx*eady wery low in the watei*, the fires in the engine room had long befoi’e been extinguished, and the pumps had ceased to work. Everything was condxxcted in perfect oi’der. The officer in charge of each boat called out the names of those who wex*e take their places in her, and one by one the boats were lowei'ed without misadventure.

That in which Philip Clitheroe and two other cabin passengers, with the four women, took their seats, was manned by six Lascar sailors and eight stokers, the latter being Africans from the Coromandel coast, known on boai’d the steamex-s as Seedy Boys.

The boat rowed eight oars, the six men not required taking their seats on the floor of the boat. The second engineer took the helm. Annette and Constance sat on one side of him and the other two women on the other, the male passenger’s on the bench next to them, Philip being next to Annette. The woi’k of lowering was safely accomplished. The vessel was now so deep in the water that her action of rolling was dull and heavy, and the boat wrs lowered with out difficulty and the falls safely cast off. The waves, now that those in the boat were so near the surface of the water, looked alarmingly high. ‘There is not the least fear unless we get it a great deal worse than this,’ the engineer said. ‘ They are firstrate boats and will live in almost any

sea. This is one of the smallest of them, but I don’t know that I wouldn’t as lief be in her as one of the big ones, especially being wider they are more closely packed with passengei’s, and have a store of provisions and water in proportion. There you see how easy she l’ides ; not a cupful has come into liei\ You will soon feel quite at home in hei*, and think nothing of the waves. Can either of jrou gentlemen steer V 1 1 can,’ Philip said. ‘ I have been knocking about in yachts, and can manage a sailing boat fairly.’ The other two passengers shook their heads.

‘ Then we must do watch and watch, Mr Brown, while the wind lasts. After that anyone can steer who has got eyes in his head. What is our course ? I have got it all down on paper in my polccet, but I have had no time to look at it yet. My oi’dex's are to keep together as close as we can. The captain is on board the jolly-boat and will hoist a lantern at night for xxs to steer by. The Keeling Islands lie about thx*ee hundred miles south-east by south. The captain is going to make for them. If we are blown out of our course aixd cannot make, them, then we shall steer for Java, but keeping as mxxch in the ship track as possible. We are sure to be picked up before long. There, the last boat has left the ship. Thank God they have all got away safely. It is alweys a risky business getting boats away from a sinking craft, and it is well indeed that we had plenty of time to get evexything done quietly and regularly.’ While they were talking, Constance and Annette sat perfectly quiet. Constance saw at once by the way the Lascars took their seats in the bottom of the boat to windwai’d and made themselves as comfortable as they could, that they had no thought of immediate dangex*, and though the sea looked to her teri'ible, she sxxpposed that this was only her inexperience, and began to look round at the other boats. One of Annette’s hands grasped her arm, and each time a wave rolled up the gx-asp tightened. ‘ You must have seen worse seas than this, Annette, by a long way, among the Islands.’ ‘ Yes, I can remember some tei’rible storms thei-e; but then yoxx see I was not out in a boat in them.’

‘I suppose you would not call this a storm at all V Constance said to Mr Solden, the engineei*. ‘Ho, I should call this a fresh breeze. I fancy we shall get it a bit stronger yet, but I can assure you thei’e is no safer craft in the world than a good open boat, well handled, and though I have not had very much to do with boats since I entered the service, I was always sailing when I was a boy. I was born at Portsmouth. My father was an engineer in the dockyard, and this is how I came to take to it; but I had two uncles who owned wherries, and until I was apprenticed to my trade I was always knocking about with them, and could handle my boat as well as they could. The first officer would have sent a quartermaster with us, but he is an old acquaintane of mine and knows that as far as handling a boat goes I am as good as any seaman.’ In an hour or two the sense of danger passed off', and even the other two female passengers, who had wept copiously on first leaving the ship, partly from sheer flight, but more from the thought of their dresses and valuables that were lost to them for evei’, cheered up. ‘ How, Mr Brown, I appoint you second in command, and your duties will be to take your trick at the helm. You two gentlemen I appoint joint pursers; you will have the issuing of rations. There is no means of cooking food, but under my seat there is a kettle and spii’it lamp stowed away, and a quart of spirit and a canister of tea,, I like a cup of tea befoi’e I turn in after my watch below, and always keep the means of making one in my cabin. Knowing there would be ladies on boai’d, and that it might be a comfort to them, I slipped them in under here when the stoi’es were being put on board.’ ‘ That was good of you, Mr Solden,’ Constance said, gratefully. * How far do you say it is to these islands ?’ ‘ About three hundred miles.’

‘ How long shall -we be doing it V ‘ Ah, that depends upon the wind. If it keeps as it is now, and we can lay our course, we shall be there in two days and a half or thereabouts. I take it -we are going about five knots through the water now. (To be continued.)