joyfully over her prize, she reads, and forgets her solitude, her poverty, her coming motherhood. Meanwhile the dreary voice of the sea is music to her, and has nothing of warning in it.

CHAPTER XV.

MARGARET AGAIN SEEKS SHELTER WITH ELIZABETH.

HECTOR did not return home that night.

The next morning, as Elizabeth Vandereck and her little ones sat at their breakfast, chattering as blithely as three linnets, the door opened and Margaret stood before them.

She threw herself down at Elizabeth's knees and pressed a letter into her hand.

It was written by Hector, and contained but these lines:

"MY GOOD AND DEAR WIFE,-I believe you have cared for me at least too much not to have seen how I have been living in hourly dread of something ever since I saw you that night at E. Vandereck's. Now Will shows me the blow I dreaded has fallen. I go-I must go

to save you from something worse than anything we have endured together. I sail with Will at six to-morrow. I leave you to Him who alone knows when, or if ever, I may see your sweet face again. May that blessed woman Elizabeth have care of you, and as she trusts to meet her Joshua at some future day-keep you and cherish you for me in case it should be that, by some miracle, I might be able to come back to you. I have no time for more. It's no use saying, Think well of me if Liz should be against me, so I pray you both-good dear souls-remember me with as much mercy and trust as you can. I shall cling to that hope.-Your affectionate husband,

"HECTOR BROWNE."

JOURNAL OF HECTOR BROWNE, CAPTAIN OF THE

ROSABELLA, HOMEWARD BOUND.

PART I.

Aboard the "Rosabella," Saturday, July

I'm to make a sort of private log, the governor says, and put into ship-shape all that's happened to me this last two year. He says it will improve my scholarship (not before it's needed, neither, governor), and may be useful to take facts from some day. At first I can't say I took to the idea, for, as I said, I must make a logbook-that's a logbook and nothing more-or I must let all out that's in me; and as you know, governor, I said every man has run on rocks he'd liever not tell of some time in his life. The

governor has his answer to that. "Let all out," says he, "and afterwards use what you like and hold back what you like. I agree with you in not liking to write down part only. It may be

very bad for a man to lie to other men, but it's worse for him to lie to himself, for it makes him both seller and buyer of a rascally bit of goods." I think you're right there, governor, as you generally are.

That much settled, I sat down the other night to begin; but it came upon me all of a sudden what a fool I was to be writing to myself, which I expressed to the governor next day. "Nonsense," says he. "Write to me though, mind, you never need show me what you have written unless you like, or only such parts as you like. Write to me about such things as you would naturally say you would tell me about; or write to your wife such things as you would naturally tell her about."

It certainly makes it easier, regarding it in that light. But even so, now I have come to the point, I find it uncommon stiff work, and must own to having sat through two watches, staring at the paper, before I began a word.