“It almost unnerved me,” he said, turning to Miss Drewitt, who was listening intently.

“You are sure she went down, I suppose?” said the captain;” she didn’t just disappear in the darkness?”

“Sank like a stone,” said Mr. Chalk, decidedly.  “Our boat was nearly swamped in the vortex.  Fortunately, the sea was calm, and when day broke we saw a small island about three miles away on our weather-beam.”

“Where?” inquired Edward Tredgold, who had just looked in on the way to the office.  Mr. Chalk explained.

“You tell the story much better than my father does,” said Edward, nodding.  “From the way he tells it one might think that you had the island in the boat with you.”

Mr. Chalk started nervously.  “It was three miles away on our weather-beam,” he repeated,” the atmosphere clear and the sea calm.  We sat down to a steady pull, and made the land in a little under the hour.”

“Who did the pulling?” inquired Edward, casually.

Mr. Chalk started again, and wondered who had done it in Mr. Tredgold’s version.  He resolved to see him as soon as possible and arrange details.

“Most of us took a turn at it,” he said, evasively, “and those who didn’t encouraged the others.”

“Most of you!” exclaimed the bewildered captain;” and those who didn’t—­ but how many?”

“The events of that night are somewhat misty,” interrupted Mr. Chalk, hastily.  “The suddenness of the calamity and the shock of losing our shipmates—­”

“It’s wonderful to me that you can remember so much,” said Edward, with a severe glance at the captain.

Mr. Chalk paid no heed.  Having reached the island, the rest was truth and plain sailing.  He described their life there until they were taken off by a trading schooner from Auckland, and how for three months they cruised with her among the islands.  He spoke learnedly of atolls, copra, and missionaries, and, referring for a space to the Fijian belles, thought that their charms had been much overrated.  Edward Tredgold, waiting until the three had secured berths in the s.s. Silver Star, trading between Auckland and London, took his departure.

Miss Vickers, who had been spending the day with a friend at Dutton Priors, and had missed the arrival in consequence, heard of the disaster in a mingled state of wrath and despair.  The hopes of a year were shattered in a second, and, rejecting with fierceness the sympathy of her family, she went up to her room and sat brooding in the darkness.

She came down the next morning, pale from want of sleep.  Mr. Vickers, who was at breakfast, eyed her curiously until, meeting her gaze in return, he blotted it out with a tea-cup.

“When you’ve done staring,” said his daughter,” you can go upstairs and make yourself tidy.”

“Tidy?” repeated Mr. Vickers.  “What for?”

“I’m going to see those three,” replied Selina, grimly; “and I want a witness.  And I may as well have a clean one while I’m about it.”