and whilst conversation flowed freely, there was less of that tendency to boisterous mirth which is often so marked and objectionable a feature during short sea-trips.

"A pleasant journey so far," remarked a lady to the male companion at her side.

"Yes," was his reply; "and let us hope it will continue."

"Have you any reason to doubt it?" was the inquiry which followed.

"No; but the captain will perhaps be able to tell us presently."

At the upper end of the same table, he who had been the last to arrive on board was holding an animated conversation with a fellow-passenger on certain historical reminiscences of the city of Antwerp.

"I must confess that it is with feelings of considerable satisfaction and pride that I learned from Motley, and others, the brave stand which the doughty burghers made, three centuries ago, against the violent persecutions of the Holy Inquisition which had been set up by Charles V."

"Is it a fact that the Prince of Orange led what was, for distinction, called an insurrection?"

"Yes; and I suppose rightly so-called, since, without troubling to inquire into the mode by which its subjugation had been brought about, the Netherlands, which then included both Holland and Belgium, was under the tender rule of Philip II. of Spain."

"The husband of our own Queen Mary, was he not?"

"The same," responded the previous speaker. "And by him the government had been placed in the hands of the Duchess of Parma. The Prince, who had been sent to represent Philip, unable any longer to sustain that role, threw off his allegiance to Spain; and, with what has been described as 'the true spirit of a Christian hero,' declared for the people who had been confided to his care. It would be too long a story to recount all the events which led up to it, but it is well worth your study when you have leisure, as you will find how, by his wisdom and courage, he succeeded in obtaining for them freedom from foreign invasion, and the right of worship according to the dictates of their own conscience, without the loss of a single life."

"I say, skipper," called out a rosy-faced little man, seated close beside the two who had been thus conversing, "what sort of weather do you anticipate we shall have in crossing the German Ocean?"

"I am afraid we shall have what you will, most of you, consider a rough journey. The glass has fallen considerably within the last few hours; there is a stiffish breeze from the north, which is blowing against the tide, so that our course is not likely to be one of the smoothest."

A few exchanged ominous glances; whilst others, as soon as the meal was over, betook themselves to the cabins or bunks, and made preparations for bestowing themselves in such manner as seemed most likely to minimise the sufferings in prospect. Breakfast had not long been finished, when the bar was crossed, and the pitch and roll of the vessel began to make their influence felt.

It was high noon, and eight bells had just struck. Black clouds hid the sun from view. The wind was blowing in gusts from the north, whilst the white-crested waves were dashing and breaking over the vessel as she laboured through the trough of the billows, or mounted the crests of the foaming waves. The deck was continually being swept by the rolling seas, so that, with but few exceptions, all the passengers were closely confined below; but the exceptions seemed to be, like those stormy petrels sailors tell us are to be met with in mid-ocean, enjoying what they pleasantly described as "the fun."

The good ship was just succeeding in again making headway through the troubled waters, after clearing herself of a huge wave which had seemed as if it would engulf her, when a cry was heard from the stern of the vessel, "Man overboard!" The engines were at once stopped, the vessel's head brought round to windward, and, notwithstanding the nature of the sea prevailing, everything got ready for lowering a boat when the order should be given.

"Lower away, men!" came from the captain. And the next moment the ship's lifeboat was tossing on the crest of the waves, but pulled by strong arms, with a skilled hand at the helm. The crew, and those on deck who witnessed this scene, were full of eagerness and anxiety as to the result. It was, however, felt from the first to be an almost hopeless quest; and so in the end it proved, for after half an hour's vain search, during which time it was with difficulty the rowers kept their boat from being swamped, it was hoisted in with its living freight, and the vessel again headed for the English coast.

The intelligence of the disaster had rapidly spread through the ship, and now the question on the lips of everyone capable of attending to anything but their own condition was, "Who is it?" But this no one seemed able at present to give a reliable answer to.

After a careful inquiry had been instituted amongst the passengers, attention became concentrated upon the last arrival on board. The captain remembered to have seen him in conversation with one of the passengers during breakfast, and to have caught occasional snatches of the topics under discussion; but since then neither captain nor any of the passengers remembered to have seen him, nor could a careful examination of all on board succeed in bringing him to light. No one appeared to have noticed him on deck, and yet his absence seemed undoubtedly to point to the fact that he must be the missing man; but who he was, and whether his death was to be attributed to accident or design, none were able to say.

Later in the day an overcoat was discovered stowed away in one of the bunks, which none of the passengers could identify as belonging to them. On a careful scrutiny of the pockets, papers were found which seemed to point more definitely to the identity of the lost man. When, therefore, the Kestrel at length reached her moorings in the Thames, and made her report to the proper authorities, it was taken charge of by the local police, and the matter was left with them to investigate.

CHAPTER IV.

RAILTON HALL.

"Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides:
Who cover faults, at last shame them derides."
King Lear, Act I. sc. i.

"Come, Jennie, it's time you began to think about retiring."

"Yes, mother; in a minute," responded the young girl thus addressed.

"But do you know, child, that it is ten o'clock? an hour that is quite too late for more minutes to be allowed."

"I know, mother, but I do so want to finish what I am reading."

"You have been intent on that book for the last two hours," replied the mother,—"so intent, that you have scarcely spoken a word since you commenced; and if you sit at it much longer you will be ill to-morrow, and unable to get up when the time comes. So put it away, and go at once."

Thus fairly admonished, the girl addressed closed her book, not without evident reluctance, and prepared to obey her mother's