and full of fever.

And yet he was setting out with the intention of securing his future peace and immunity from peril by the commission of a fresh crime.

The ship was setting sail at a little after daybreak, and it had been arranged that Señor Velasquez was to come and see him off.

But much to his surprise, the notary did not put in an appearance.

Eagerly he waited for the ship to start, lest any thing should occur at the eleventh hour, and he should find himself laid by the heels to answer for his crimes.

Chivey was supposed to be hiding.

In reality he was a prisoner in the house of Señor Velasquez, and he knew it.

The notary was an old man, and he suffered from sundry ailments which belong to age—notably to rheumatism.

An acute attack prostrated the old man, and held him down when he was most anxious to be up and doing.

And the night before Herbert Murray was to set sail, he lay groaning and moaning with racking pains.

His cries reached Chivey, who lay in the next room, and he came to the sick man's door to ask if he could be of any assistance.

He peered warily in.

In spite of his groans and anguish, the old notary was insensible under the influence of an opiate.

Chivey crept in.

On a low table beside the bed was a lamp flickering fearfully, and a glass containing some medicine.

Beside the glass a phial labelled laudanum.

Something possessed the intruder to empty the contents of the phial into the glass, and just as he had done so, the sufferer opened his eyes.

"Who's there?"

"It's me, Señor Velasquez," said the tiger. "You have been ill——"

"What do you do here?" demanded the notary, sharply.

"You called out. I thought I might be of assistance."

"No, no."

"Then I will go, señor," said Chivey, "for I am tired."

"Stay, give me my physic before you go."

Chivey handed him the glass.

The sick man gulped it down, and made a wry face.

"How bitter it tastes," he said, with a shudder.

"Good-night, señor."

"Good-night."

Chivey did not remain very long absent.

The heavy breathing of the notary soon told him that it was safe to return to the room.

The business of the morrow so filled the mind of the old Spaniard, that he was talking of it in his sleep.

"At an hour after daybreak, I tell you, Murray," he muttered. "The berth is paid for, paid for by my gold. You follow on the track of your enemy Harkaway, and once you are within reach, give a sharp, sure stroke, and you will be free from your only enemy, seeing that you have already taken good care of your traitor servant."

Chivey was amazed, electrified.

Did he hear aright?

"At daybreak!" he exclaimed, aloud.

"Yes; at daybreak," returned the notary in his sleep.

After a pause, the sleeper muttered—

"What say you? If Chivey were not quite dead? What of that? How could he follow you? He has no funds. The only money he possessed I have now in my strong box under my bed."

Chivey was staggered.

"Is Murray going to bolt, and leave me in the power of this old villain, I wonder," he muttered.

He broke off in his speculations, for the notary was babbling something again.

"'The Mogador,'" muttered the old man, speaking more thickly than before as the opiate began to make itself felt; "the captain is called Gonzales. You have only to mention the name of Señor Velasquez, and he will treat you well. He knows me."

He muttered a few more words which grew more and more incoherent each instant.

Then he lay back motionless as a log.

The opium held him fast in its power.

"Now for the box," exclaimed the tiger, excitedly.

Chivey tore open the box, and lifting up some musty old deeds and parchments, he feasted his eyes upon a mine of wealth.

A pile of gold.

Bright glittering pieces of every size and country.

And beside it thick bundles of paper money.

"Gold is uncommonly pretty," said the tiger, "but the notes packs the closest."

Bundle after bundle he stowed away about his person, regularly padding his chest under his shirt.

"Now for a trifle of loose cash," he said, coolly.

So saying, he dropped about sixty or seventy gold pieces into his breeches pocket.

His waistcoat pockets he stuffed full also.

Then he pushed back the box into its place under the bed.

"The old man still sleeps," he said to himself, looking round at the bed.

He was in a rare good humour with himself.

"Ha, ha! I am rich now," said Chivey. "Thank you, old señor, you have done me a good turn. May you sleep long."

He gave a final glance about him and made off.

A distant church clock tolled the hour of midnight as he gained the seashore.

He was in luck.

Not a soul did he encounter until he reached the beach, when he came upon two sailors, launching a rowing boat.

"'Mogador?'" he said, in a tone of inquiry.

"Si, señor."

"That's your sort," said Chivey. "I want to see Captain Gonzales."

"Come with us, then," said one of the sailors.

"Rather," responded the tiger; "off we dive; whip 'em up, tickle him under the flank, and we're there in a common canter."

The sailors both understood a little of English.

In very little time they were standing on the deck of the "Mogador."

And facing Chivey as he scrambled up the side, was the master of the ship, Captain Gonzales, to whom Chivey was presented at once by one of the sailors.

"Señor Velasquez has sent me to you, captain," said the ever ready tiger.

"Then you are welcome."

"He told me to give you that," said Chivey, handing the captain a pair of banknotes; "and to beg you to give me the best of accommodation in a cabin all to myself."

"It shall be done."

"And above all not to let Mr. Murray know of my presence on board when he comes."

"Good."

"I am going on very important business for Señor Velasquez, captain," pursued Chivey, with infinite assurance; "as you may judge, for he values your care of me at one hundred crowns to be paid on your next visit here."

"Rely upon my uttermost assistance."

"Thank you," said Chivey, with a patronising smile; "and now I'll be obliged to you to show me to my berth."

"Here," cried the Spanish captain. "Pedro—Juan—Lopez. Take this gentleman to my private cabin."

The "Mogador" stood out to sea bravely enough.

Chivey was there.

Herbert Murray was there.

But the latter little suspected the presence of the former.

Herbert Murray, in fancied security, was reclining on deck upon some cushions he had got up from below, smoking lazily, and looking up at the blue sky overhead, when Chivey, who had been looking vainly out for an appropriate cue to make his reappearance, slipped suddenly forward, and touching his hat, remarked in the coolest manner in the world—

"Did you ring for me, sir?"

Herbert looked up just as if he had seen a ghost.

"Chivey!"

"Guv'ner."

Herbert Murray stared at his villainous servant.

But villainous as Chivey was, Herbert Murray never thought a bit about that.

His heart leaped to his mouth, and he was overjoyed to find him there.

"Oh, Chivey, you vagabond!" he ejaculated. "I'm so awfully glad to see you."

"One touch of nature makes the whole world kin."

There's a lot of truth in that trite and homely old saying.

For one little phrase from the guilty Herbert had come so straight from the heart that even the villainous tiger was touched immediately.

"Look here, guv'nor," said Mr. Chivey, "I don't think you are half so bad as I thought. My opinion is that you are not half as bad as some of 'em, and that the ugly job up at the gravel pits was all of my provoking. I bear no malice."

"You don't!"