terrifying in the extreme to one not inured to the sea; the roaring of the waves and the howling of the wind sound so much louder than on a larger vessel, and the quick, violent motion often confuses the brains even of sailors if they are accustomed only to big ships. But Carew was, as Allen had said, a smart man on a fore-an-after. He felt that, with this good boat under him, he was as safe as if he had been on shore.

"She's snug enough," he said. "I'll go below and try to make out from the chart where I am; then I'll turn in and sleep—if I can."

He looked at the chart, roughly calculated the distance the yacht had run since Allen had taken his "departure" from the Naze, and found that he was about half-way between the English and Dutch coasts. "That is good," he thought; "I have no lee-shore near me; I have plenty of room. I'll just stay where I am, hove-to, till the wind moderates, then make sail for Rotterdam."

He lay down in his bunk and tried to sleep, but all in vain. His brain was too excited with thoughts of what had passed and what was still to happen. Plans to secure his safety, and visions of possible accidents, passed through his mind, weaving themselves in delirious manner into long and complicated histories of his future life—some happy, some terrible with retributive calamity. Unable to stay the feverish activity of his brain, he came on deck at frequent intervals to see that all was well.

The vessel plunged and rolled throughout the night, her timbers groaning, and the wind shrieking through her rigging. But towards daybreak the gale began to moderate, and the glass rose slowly. Carew saw that the bad weather was over and that the heavy sea would soon subside. On the shallow German Ocean the sea rises quicker than elsewhere, and with its steep and breaking rollers is more perilous than can be experienced on any other of our home waters, as the fishermen of the Doggerbank know to their cost. On the other hand, here it soon becomes smooth again as the wind drops.

An hour or so after dawn the sky was almost cloudless, and only a fresh breeze was blowing. The waves, no longer dangerous, broke into white foam that sparkled in the sunshine. It was a day to gladden a sailor's heart.

Carew stood on deck, and under the joyous influences of that bright morning a calm fell on his soul, and his conscience ceased to trouble him. There is a sort of magnetic relation between a man and his surroundings. Out at sea, far away from land, with nothing but pure air and pure water near, even a great villain is wont to forget that he himself is not pure as well. In London, as he walked through the crowded streets, Carew knew that he was constantly jostling against men as bad as himself. In them he saw his own vices and crimes reflected as in a mirror, so that he could never put his guilt out of his mind. Again, fearful as he had been lately that those around him suspected him, he was unable to feel, even for one delusive moment, the sense of innocence.

But out here on the great sea, so far removed from human passion, with nothing to remind him of his offences, it was, on the contrary, difficult for him to realise what manner of man he was. He was conscious of what he imagined were virtuous impulses. He began to flatter himself that he was naturally a good man, that he was more sinned against than sinning, and that it was foolish of him to allow a sensitive conscience to torment him about occurrences, regrettable indeed, but the blame of which was scarcely his. The fact was that he mistook the joyous feelings inspired by a sunny day at sea for the reawakening of his better self—a frequent mistake that. His soul was in complete harmony with the Nature around him; and Nature, whatever her actions, knows nothing of crime or remorse.

So Henry Carew, in no unhappy frame of mind, began to consider what he should do next; and as he pondered, all his pluck and energy returned to him.

"In an hour or so," he said to himself, "the sea will have gone down still more; then I can get the vessel under way again. In the meantime, I will make a thorough inspection, and discover what my resources are; for I must have money, or the means of raising it."

He went below, and after lighting a fire in the stove to boil some water for coffee, he looked round the walls of the cabin. Among other valuables were a rifle, a revolver, a clock, and an aneroid; and Allen's gold watch and chain were hanging on a nail. "I can raise fifty pounds on these to begin with," he thought; "and now to see what there is in the lockers and cupboards." He rummaged everywhere; but, with the exception of the sextant, there was no article of any value that could be easily sold.

At last, in a small drawer, he found the barrister's money and papers. There were about twenty-five pounds in gold. There was also a cheque-book; and on turning over its pages, Carew found that Allen had made a note of the balance to his credit on the counterfoil of the last cheque he had drawn, showing that he had the sum of fifty pounds at his bank. Then the solicitor glanced at the yacht's Admiralty warrant, which authorised Arthur Allen to fly the blue ensign of Her Majesty's fleet on his yacht, the Petrel, of sixteen tons register; a most valuable privilege, as Carew knew, which would serve him as passport into whatever foreign port he should go.

He was not altogether satisfied with the result of his search, and, as he sat on the bunk sipping his coffee, the more he thought of his prospects the more gloomy they appeared to him. He felt that it would be very hazardous to attempt selling the yacht in Rotterdam. To do so would require time; and as it was the long vacation, and so many lawyers and others who knew him were taking their holidays, his recognition by someone in so favourite a haunt of tourists as the Dutch city would be a highly probable event. He dared not risk that. He must not stay in Holland a moment longer than was necessary. Then what could he do with so small a fund at his disposal?

His eye fell on the open drawer, and he rose to close it. He happened then to notice the barrister's diary among the papers, and though he did not imagine that there could be anything in it of the slightest interest to himself, he took it up in a casual way and opened it at the first page. Suddenly the indifferent look vanished, he started visibly, and read with intense eagerness. "Oh!" he cried, "now it is all plain sailing for me. I know what to do." A triumphant light came into his eyes, and then, putting away the diary, he ran on deck, let the foresheet draw, and as he steered the vessel on her course over the dancing waves, the expression of his face indicated a happy confidence in the future; all doubt and fear had fled.

The first page of the diary was devoted to memoranda; and, among other things, the barrister had here written a list of the investments from which he derived his income. The bulk of these consisted of foreign bonds and other easily negotiable securities, which Allen had deposited with his banker.

It was the perusal of this list that had suggested to the quick and ingenious mind of the solicitor a scheme not difficult of execution, the very thought of which made his heart beat quick with anticipation. Carew shrank from the peril of forging cheques or letters of instructions to Allen's bankers; but now that he knew exactly how the barrister's account stood, a simpler and safer method of appropriating to himself a large proportion at least of the dead man's fortune occurred to him.

Said this accomplished scoundrel to himself: "I have here a stout, seaworthy boat, that can easily take me across the