other considerations she was clearly quite willing to relegate to a more or less distant future.

Meanwhile, the brig was slowly drawing down toward them, and as slowly lifting her canvas above the horizon. And by the time that she had raised herself to the foot of her courses, Leslie had succeeded in bringing her two masts into line, so that the pair were now dead ahead of her. Having accomplished this much, the swimmer concluded that he might safely take a rest, for the brig, being close-hauled, would be certain to be making more or less leeway; and it was quite possible that she would drive to leeward at least as fast as they did, if not faster, he therefore threw himself over on his back, requesting his companion to keep an eye on the approaching brig, and report to him her progress from time to time.

The breeze, having begun to drop, continued to fall still lighter, until Leslie, raising himself for a moment to take a look at the brig, saw with some dismay that her lower canvas was wrinkling and collapsing occasionally for lack of wind. She was by this time, however, hull-up, and not more than half a mile distant; moreover the rest in which he had been indulging had refreshed him so considerably that he felt quite capable of further exertion. He therefore determined to shorten the period of suspense as much as possible by swimming directly for the craft—a resolution that was immensely strengthened by the sudden recollection that they were afloat in a part of the ocean where a shark or sharks might put in an unwelcome appearance at any moment. Accordingly, without mentioning this last unpleasant reflection of his to his companion, he recommenced swimming, this time shaping a course directly for the brig.

Although his own individual progress, and that of the brig, was slow, their combined progress toward each other rapidly shortened the distance between them, and within about a quarter of an hour of the time that Leslie had recommenced swimming he had arrived near enough, in his judgment, to commence hailing, with a view to attracting the attention of the brig’s crew. Ceasing his exertions, therefore, he took a good long breath and shouted, at the top of his voice—

“Brig ahoy! Brig ahoy! Brig Ahoy!”

The hail, thrice repeated, exhausted the capacity of his lungs, and he paused, anxiously listening for a reply. He thought—and Miss Trevor thought, too—that in response to his last shout a faint “Hillo?” had come floating down to them; but the wash of the water was in his ears, and he could not be certain, he therefore again took breath, and repeated his hail.

This time there could be no doubt about it; the answering hail came distinctly enough, and immediately afterwards—so close was the brig to them—he saw first one head, then another, and another, appear in the eyes of the vessel, peering over the bows. Quick as light, and treading water meanwhile, he whipped the white pocket-handkerchief out of the breast-pocket of his coat and waved it eagerly over his head. The people in the bows of the brig stared incredulously for a moment; then with a sudden simultaneous flinging aloft of their arms they abruptly vanished.

“All right,” ejaculated Leslie, in tones of profound relief, “they have seen us, and your deliverance, Miss Trevor, is now a matter of but a few brief minutes!”

“Oh, thank God; thank God!” cried the girl, brokenly; and then, all in a moment, the tension of her nerves suddenly giving way, she broke down utterly, and burst into a perfect passion of tears. Leslie had sense enough to recognise that this hysterical outburst would probably relieve his companion’s sorely overwrought feelings, and do her good; he therefore allowed her to have her cry out in peace, without making any attempt to check her.

She was still sobbing convulsively when Leslie, who never took his eyes off the slowly approaching brig, saw five people suddenly appear in the vessel’s bows, three of them pointing eagerly, while the other two peered out ahead under the sharp of their hands.

“Brig ahoy!” hailed Leslie; “back your main-yard, will you, and stand by to heave us a couple of rope’s ends when we come alongside?”

“Ay, ay,” promptly came the answer from the brig. The men in the bows again vanished; and, as they did so, the same voice that had just answered pealed out, “Let go the port main braces; main tack and sheet; back the main-yard! And then some of you stand by to drop a line or two, with a standing bowline in their ends, to those people in the water.”

The main-yard swung slowly aback, the canvas on the mainmast pressed against the mast, still further retarding the vessel’s sluggish movement; and as she drifted almost imperceptibly up to them, a few strokes of Leslie’s arms took the pair alongside, where some half a dozen rope’s ends, with loops in them, already dangled in the water. With a deft movement, Leslie seized and dropped one of them over his head and under his armpits; then, taking Miss Trevor about the waist, he gave the word “Hoist away, handsomely,” and four men, standing on the brig’s rail, dragged them up the vessel’s low side, and assisted them to gain the deck.

The vessel, on board which they now found themselves, was a small craft compared with the Golden Fleece, measuring, as Leslie had already guessed, about two hundred and thirty tons register. That she was British the language of her crew had already told him; and he was thankful that it was so, for he might now reasonably hope for courteous treatment of himself and his companion—which is not always to be reckoned upon with certainty, under such circumstances, if the craft happens to be manned by foreigners. The vessel, moreover, appeared to be tolerably clean; while the crew seemed to be a fairly decent lot of men.

As he gained the deck, a tall, dark, rather handsome man—but with an expression of countenance that Leslie hardly liked—stepped forward. He was clad entirely in white, and was clearly the master of the brig.

“Good morning,” he said, without offering his hand, or uttering any word of welcome. “Where the devil do you come from?”

“We are,” answered Leslie, “survivors—the only two, I am afraid—of the passenger ship Golden Fleece, bound to Melbourne, which was run into and sunk by an unknown steamer last night about eleven o’clock, during a dense fog. My name is Leslie; I was one of the cuddy passengers; and this lady—who was likewise a cuddy passenger—is Miss Trevor.”

The man’s rather saturnine features relaxed as he gazed with undisguised admiration at the lovely girl, wet and bedraggled though she was; and, stepping up to her, he held out his hand, saying—

“Your most obedient, miss. Glad to see you aboard my ship. My name’s Potter—James Potter; and this brig’s the Mermaid, of London, bound out to Valparaiso with a general cargo. And this,” he added, directing the girl’s attention toward a slight, active-looking man who stood beside him, “is my only mate, Mr Purchas.”

Miss Trevor bowed slightly, first to one and then to the other of the two men, as these introductions were made; then, turning once more to Potter, she thanked him earnestly and heartily for having picked up herself and her companion, and stood waiting irresolutely for what was next to happen.

“Oh, that’s all right, miss; you’re very welcome, I’m sure. Glad to have the chance of doing a service to such a beauty as you are.” Then, turning abruptly about, he shouted, “Swing the main-yard, and fill upon her. Board the main tack, and aft with the sheet. Lively now, you skowbanks; and don’t stand staring there like stuck pigs!”

The men hurried away to execute these elegantly embellished orders. And Leslie, who had stood impatiently by, with a slowly gathering frown corrugating his brow, stepped forward and said—

“I hope, Mr Potter, that our presence on board your brig is not going to subject you