Slagg willingly promised never again to fire at monkeys, and they proceeded on their way.

They had not gone far, when another whirring of wings was heard, but this time the noise was greater than on other occasions.

"What is it?" asked Slagg eagerly, preparing for action.

"Sure it's a pay-cock," said Flinn.

"A what-cock?" asked Slagg, who afterwards described the noise to be like the flapping of a mainsail.

"A pay-cock. Splendid aitin'. Fire, avic!"

"What! fire at that?" cried Slagg, as a creature of enormous size and gorgeous plumage rose above the bushes. "Ye must be jokin'. I couldn't fire at that."

"Faix, an' ye naidn't fire at it now," returned Flinn with a quiet smile, "for it's a mile out o' range by this time. Better luck—och! if there isn't another. Now, thin, don't be in a hurry. Be aisy. Whatever ye do, be aisy."

While he spoke another huge bird appeared, and as Slagg beheld its size and spreading wings and tail, he took aim with the feelings of a cold-blooded murderer. That is to say, he shut both eyes and pulled both triggers. This double action had become a confirmed habit by that time, and Flinn commended it on the principle that there was "nothin' like makin' cocksure of everything!"

Re-opening his eyes and lowering his gun, Slagg beheld the peacock sailing away in the far distance.

"Sure ye've missed it, but after all it's a most awkward bird to hit— specially when ye don't pint the gun quite straight. An' the tail, too, is apt to throw even a crack-shot out—so it is. Niver mind; there's plenty more where that wan came from."

Thus encouraged, our sportsman reloaded and continued his progress.

It is said that fortune favours the brave, and on that occasion the proverb was verified. There can be no question that our friend Jim Slagg was brave. All Irishmen are courageous, therefore it is equally certain that Flinn was brave, and the attenuated black could not have been otherwise than brave, else he would not have continued to enjoy himself in the dangerous neighbourhood of Slagg's gun. As a consequence, therefore, fortune did favour the sportsmen that day, for it brought them unexpectedly into the presence of the king of India's forests—a royal Bengal tiger—tawny skin, round face, glaring eyes, and black stripes complete from nose to tail!

There was no doubt in Flinn's mind about it, as his actions proved, but there were considerable doubts in Slagg's mind, as was evinced by his immediate petrifaction—not with fear, of course, but with something or other remarkably similar.

Slagg chanced to be walking in advance at the time, making his way with some trouble through a rather dense bit of jungle. He had by that time recovered his self-possession so much that he was able to let his mind wander to other subjects besides sport.

At the moment when the rencontre occurred he chanced to be wandering in spirit among the groves of Pirate Island. On turning sharp round a bend in the track, he found himself face to face with the tiger, which crouched instantly for a spring. As we have said, the sportsman was instantly petrified. He could not believe his eyes! He must have believed something, however, else he would not have gazed with such dreadful intensity. Yes, there, a few feet before him, crouched the tenant of the menagerie, without the cage—the creature of picture story-books endued with life!

Had Slagg's life depended on his putting his gun to his shoulder he would have lost it, for he could not move. His fingers, however, were gifted with independent action. They gave a spasmodic jerk, and both barrels, chancing to be levelled correctly, sent their charges full into the tiger's face.

Small shot may tickle a tiger but it cannot kill. With a roar like thunder the brute sprang on its audacious enemy. Fortunately Slagg made an involuntary step to the rear at the moment, and fell on his back, so that the animal, half-blinded by shot and smoke, went over him, and alighted almost at the feet of Flinn.

That worthy was equal to the occasion. At the sound of his friend's double shot he had seized the large rifle and leaped forward in time to meet the baffled tiger. Quick as light his practised hand discharged the heavy bullet, which, passing over the animal's head, went into its spine near the haunches, so that when it tried a second spring its hind legs refused their office, and it rolled over fuming and struggling in an agony of pain and rage.

Flinn ran a few paces backward so as to reload in comparative safety, while Slagg followed his example, but in desperate haste. Before he had half charged the first barrel, a second shot from the heavy rifle laid the royal monster dead on the ground.

"Well done!" cried Flinn, seizing his friend's hand and wringing it. "It's Nimrod you are, no less. I niver saw a purtier shot. An', faix, it's not every man that kills a tiger his first day out."

"But I didn't kill it," said Slagg modestly.

"Sure but ye drew first blood, me boy, so the tiger's yours, an' I wish you joy. Come, we'll go home now an' git help to fetch the carcass. Won't they open their two eyes aich of them whin they see it! Here, ye black spalpeen, take the rifle an' give me the gun."

In a few minutes the fortunate hunters were wending their way rapidly homeward, and that night the whole party, while enjoying their supper, feasted their eyes on the magnificent form of the royal Bengal tiger as it lay on the verandah, in front of the electricians' bungalow.



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

BEGINS WITH A DISAPPOINTMENT, CONTINUES WITH A GREAT RECEPTION, AND ENDS WITH A SERIES OF SURPRISES.

At the breakfast-table next morning a telegram was handed to Redpath. There was nothing unusual in this. On the contrary, it seemed peculiarly natural that telegrams should be frequent visitors at the house of a telegraphist, but it was not so natural that Redpath should first look at the missive with surprise, and then toss it across the table to Sam.

"It is for you, Mr Shipton."

"For me? Impossible! I am supposed to be dead at home," exclaimed Sam, tearing it open. "Oh, it's from Frank Hedley, and—well, he has been successful after all! Listen, Robin. Excuse me, Mrs Redpath. May I read it aloud?"

"By all means," answered the pretty little woman, who would probably have answered the same if he had asked leave to go to bed in his boots.

"'Your affair settled'"—continued Sam, reading.

"'Great Eastern starts almost immediately. Come without delay.'"

"How provoking!" exclaimed the pretty little woman. "I had counted on having you a fortnight at least."

"And I had counted on showing you some capital sport in our jungles, where we have all sorts of large game. But of course you cannot do otherwise than obey the summons at once."

"Of course not," said Sam and Robin together.

Flinn left the room and entered the servants' quarters with something like a groan.

"Sure it's bad luck has followed me iver since I left owld Ireland."

"What's wrong with you?" asked Slagg, looking up from the slice of peacock breast with which he was regaling himself.

"The matter? Och, it's bad luck's the matter. Hasn't our frindship only just begood, an' isn't it goin' to be cut short all of a suddint, niver more to be renewed?"

In pathetic tones, and with many Hibernian comments, the poor man communicated the news brought by the telegram. But regrets were of no avail; the orders were peremptory; the chance of returning to England in such circumstances too good to be lightly thrown away; so that same forenoon saw the whole party, with the skin of the royal tiger, on their way back to the city of Bombay.

It is easier to imagine than to describe the state of mind into which they were thrown when, on returning to their hotel, they discovered the perfidy of Stumps. Fortunately, they had enough of money left to discharge the hotel bill, and redeem their property.

"You're quite sure of the name of the vessel he sailed in?" asked Sam of the waiter who had so cleverly obtained, and so cautiously retained, his information as to the proceedings of Stumps.

"Quite sure, sir," replied the waiter. "The ship's name was Fairy Queen, bound for the port of London, and the thief—the gen'lem'n, I mean—shipped in the name of James Gibson."

Having received the "consideration" which he had anticipated, and had afterwards given up as lost, the waiter retired, and Sam, with his friends, went to inquire after the great cable with which they now felt themselves to be specially connected.

"Letta," said Robin, as they went along, "you and I must part for a time."

"Oh! must we?" asked the child, with a distressed look.

"Yes, but only for a very short time, dear," returned Robin. "You know we cannot get you a berth on board the Great Eastern. They won't even take you as chief engineer or captain!"

"But why not as the captain's daughter—or his wife?" said Letta, who thoroughly understood and enjoyed a joke.

"Because, Letta, you are engaged to me," replied Robin, with an offended look.

"O, yes; I forgot that. Well?"

Well, what we have arranged is this. I have met with many kind people here, some of whom have been greatly interested in your story, and one of them—a very nice lady, who is going home—has offered to take you with her, and deliver you safely to my mother in England, there to wait till I come home and marry you.

"How nice!" exclaimed Letta; "and you'll be sure to come home soon?"

"Yes, quite sure, and very soon."

This arrangement, being deemed satisfactory, was afterwards carried into effect, and Letta sailed a few days later in one of the regular steamers for England via the Suez Canal.

Meanwhile the Great Eastern still lay at her moorings, completing the arrangements for her voyage.

During this period our hero lived in a whirl of excitement. It seemed to himself as if he were the subject of an amazing but by no means unpleasant dream, the only dark spots in which were the departure of Letta and the depravity of John Shanks, alias James Gibson, alias Stumps.

"Oh! Stumps, Stumps," he soliloquised, sadly, one day while standing on "the green" in the unromantic shade of a huge bale of cotton, "how could you behave so after being our trusted comrade so long!"

"Never mind Stumps just now," said Sam Shipton, making his appearance at the moment, "but come along with me at once, for we have received an invitation, through my good and remarkable friend Frank Hedley, to the grand entertainment to be given to-night at the palace of the chief and Bahee Sahib of Junkhundee."

"And who may that be?" asked Robin, with an incredulous smile.

"What! know you not the great chief whose praise is in the mouths of all—Hindu, Mohammedan, Jew, and Gentile, because he feeds and entertains them all like a prince?"

"He is the creation of your own brain, Sam. I fancy."

"No, indeed," protested Sam, earnestly, "I do not jest. The Bahee Sahib is a wealthy young Mahratta chieftain, who has been consistently loyal to us, and who entertains mixed parties of Englishmen and natives in European style, and does his best to break down the barriers of prejudice and caste. He has been hospitably received on board the Great Eastern, it seems, and is now getting up a grand affair in honour of Captain Halpin and his officers. So, come along."

"But, my dear Sam, you forget, we have not a dress suit between us, and in the present condition of our finances it would be folly to—"

"Fiddlesticks, Robin. We have only to make a couple of turbans out of bath-towels and a few peacock feathers; turn Persian shawls, which we can borrow, into kilts, put on slippers, bare our legs and paint them with red and blue stripes crossed, to indicate something of Scottish Highland origin, anoint our noses with blue bear's-grease, and—"

"Nonsense, Sam; be serious if you can, and consider what we are really to do."

"You're so impatient, Robin. The thing has all been considered for us. We have nothing to do but accept our fate. Frank Hedley, who is exactly your size, has a dress suit which he will lend you, and a friend of his, who happens to be exactly and conveniently my size, has also a suit, and is equally accommodating. Come now, for time presses, and I am told the Bahee's wife loves punctuality—but she's liberal-minded like her husband, and makes allowance for laziness, especially in hot weather. She is a regular trump, it seems, and quite amazed our electricians, during her visit to the big ship, by her intelligent comprehension of all they explained to her. She is an accomplished equestrian, and dresses as a native princess, with a huge ornament in her nose, but does not disdain to mingle with English ladies in the Bombay Rotten Row, and uses a European saddle."

The account which Sam had thus slightly sketched was more than borne out by the facts that evening. The young Rajah's reception-rooms, blazing with light, were decorated with all that the wealth of fancy could suggest or the wealth of precious metal procure, while music and perfume filled the air and intoxicated the senses.

For some time Sam and Robin moved slowly about in the crowded rooms, finding themselves rubbing shoulders, now with Eastern aristocrats in richest costume and glittering jewels, now with England's warriors in scarlet and blue; sometimes with Parsees, Hindus, Mohammedans, and Jews in their characteristic garbs; at other times with European civilians, like themselves, in sober black.

It was a bewildering scene, and the loud continuous murmur of many voices, chattering in many tongues, did not tend to decrease the bewilderment.

"What are they about over there?" said Robin, directing his companion's attention to a room in which the people appeared to be observing something with great attention.

"I don't know. Let's go and see," said Sam.

A little polite pushing brought them into an apartment in which an English professor of conjuring, who had been engaged for the occasion, was exhibiting his tricks. They were poor enough, and would not have commanded much applause from any audience, except one that had met to enjoy whatever chanced to be provided.

In another room, however, they found a performer of much greater capacity—a man who possessed considerable powers as a musician, low comedian, and local satirist; he was noted for his delineations of native character, and succeeded in making the Parsees laugh heartily at his caricature of the Hindus, while he convulsed the Hindus with his clever skits on the Parsees. He also made effective reference to the Great Eastern and her work, bringing out the humorous aspects of telegraphy and of quick communication between India and England.

"Come, let's go and see if we can find anything to eat," said Sam, when tired of this man.

"Who is that?" asked Robin, as they moved through the crowd.

"Why, that's the Bahee himself. See, he has got hold of Captain Halpin, and seems greatly pleased to lead him about."

The Rajah did indeed exhibit much satisfaction in his beaming brown face at having got hold of so noted a character as the commander of the monster ship, and it was pleasant to see the almost childlike glee, with which, taking the captain by the hand, he threaded his way through the crowd, introducing him right and left to his friends. Not less pleasant was it to observe the lively interest, with which the natives regarded the captain when they learned who he was.

At this point in the evening's proceedings, a gentleman in civilian costume came up to Sam Shipton, and asked him if he were acquainted with Mr Davis—one of the petty officers of the Great Eastern.

"I know him slightly," said Sam.

"He has got into trouble, sir," said the stranger, "and begged me to find you, if possible, and take you to him. I have been on board the Great Eastern looking for you, and was directed here."

"That's strange," returned Sam, "I have seldom spoken to the man. Are you sure he did not send you for some one else—one of his mess-mates?"

"Quite sure, sir. And he bade me urge you to go quickly, else you may be too late."

"Well—lead the way. Come, Robin, I'm sorry to quit this gay and festive scene—especially before supper—but it can't be helped. You'll go with me, and we can return together."

The stranger seemed to hesitate a moment, as if annoyed at Robin being thus asked to go, but, as if quickly making up his mind, led them out of the Rajah's residence, and, after a smart walk, conducted them into one of the poorer districts of the city.

"What sort of trouble has the man got into?" asked Sam as they went along.

"I really do not know. He will tell you when you see him, I suppose. I am only a casual acquaintance of his, and came on this errand to oblige him, solely because he seemed in great mental distress and was very urgent."

Soon the conversation turned upon cable-laying, and, finding that Robin had been at the laying of the Atlantic cable of 1856, the stranger inquired about the attempts that had been made to injure that cable.

"Tell me, now, would you think it a sin," he said, with a peculiar look at Sam, "to drive a nail into the cable so as to destroy it, if you were offered the sum of ten thousand pounds?"

"Of course I would," said Sam, looking at his conductor with surprise. "I wonder that you should ask the question."

"Why should you wonder," returned the man with a smile, "at any question which aims at the investigation of that great enigma styled the human mind? I am fond of the study of character, and of those principles of good and evil which influence men. Under given circumstances and conditions, the commission of a certain sin is greatly more blameworthy than the commission of the same sin under different conditions and circumstances. Do you not think so?"

"Of course I do," said Sam. "The man who, having been born and brought up among pickpockets, and under strong temptation commits a theft, is not nearly so guilty as the man would be who, having been trained under refined and Christian influences, should commit a similar theft; but I do not see the application of your argument, for your question did not refer to the relative depth of guilt, but to the sinfulness or innocence of a certain dastardly act for a tempting sum of money."

"I may not have put my question very philosophically," returned the stranger, "but I would like to have your opinion as to whether you think, under any circumstances of distress—poverty, for instance, with those dependent on one dying of hunger—a man would be justified in destroying the power of a telegraph cable for a sum of money—part, let us suppose, paid in advance, and the remainder after the deed had been accomplished."

"My opinion is that no circumstances whatever would justify such an act," said Sam with indignation. "Don't you agree with me, Robin?"

"Of course I do," said Robin with even greater indignation.

"And I quite agree with you, gentlemen," said the stranger, with a wider smile than before; "but I like to have my opinions corroborated or combated by other minds. We have now reached our destination; please follow me, and stoop a little, for the ceiling of the passage is rather low, and the poor people here cannot afford to light it."

The recent discussion had diverted Sam's mind from the character of the place into which he had been led, but a suspicion which had been growing now assailed him forcibly.

"Keep your stick handy," he whispered to Robin, at the same time grasping more firmly a stout cudgel which he carried.

These precautions seemed needless, however, for the stranger, opening with a latch-key a door at the further end of the dark passage, ushered them into a dimly lighted room, where about a dozen men were seated round a table drinking and smoking.

The men rose on the entrance of the visitors and received them with courtesy.

"Mr Davis will be glad to see you, sir," said one; "he has been in much anxiety, but here he comes and will speak for himself."

A door at the other end of the room opened, and a tall slightly-built man entered. Sam saw at once that he was not Davis.

"Fool!" growled the man, with a savage look at the stranger who had conducted them there, "you have brought the wrong man!"

"I had already begun to suspect as much," returned the other, with a light laugh.

Swallowing his disgust, apparently with an effort, the slim man turned to Sam and said, "A mistake has been made, sir. One or two of my friends here will conduct you to any part of the city you may wish to go to."

"I require no assistance," said Sam, flushing with sudden indignation. "I believe that you are conspirators, and will take particular note of your dwelling, in order that I may spoil your game."

He was about to turn and quit the room, when he was suddenly seized from behind by two powerful men, who seemed to have come on the scene by rising through the floor! At the same moment Robin was similarly secured. They did not, however, submit tamely. Both were strong-bodied as well as high-spirited, and Sam was large as well as strong.

But what were their powers against such odds! For a few seconds they struggled furiously. Then, feeling that their efforts were fruitless, they ceased.

"It is as well to go quietly, my fine fellows," said the slim man in a slightly sarcastic tone. "We are not only more than a match for you, but we happen to belong to a class of gentlemen who don't allow trifles to stand in their way. At the same time we object to murder when we can get along without it. Some of us will therefore conduct you to another part of the city. Now, I give you fair warning, if you struggle or try to make a noise on the way, we will silence you in a manner that will effectually keep you quiet for ever. Just have your knives handy, men, and don't exercise forbearance if these gentlemen turn out to be fools."

A prick in their necks by the point of some sharp instrument emphasised these words to Robin and Sam, and, at the same time, proved that the subordinates were quite ready, perhaps even anxious, to obey their superior. They suffered themselves, therefore, to be blindfolded, and led out of the house.

Of course once or twice they both thought of making a sudden struggle and endeavouring to throw off their captors, but the vice-like strength of the fingers that held them, and the recollection of the sharp instruments near their necks induced discretion; besides, the absence of the sound of footsteps told them that they could not count on aid from passers-by, even if the dwellers in such a region had been willing to assist them, which was not probable.

After passing quickly along several streets, the men who led them stopped and relaxed their hold.

"Now, you stand quiet for half a minute," said one of them gruffly; "there's a knife close to each of your spines at this moment."

Thus warned, the captives stood still for nearly a minute. Then Sam lost patience.

"Well," he said, angrily, "how long do you mean to keep us here?"

Receiving no reply, he suddenly pulled the handkerchief from his eyes and assumed the pugilistic attitude with the celerity of one whose life may depend on his action, but the only enemy to be seen was Robin, who, having also pulled down the handkerchief, stood staring at his comrade in mute surprise.

"They're gone!" cried Sam, bursting into a fit of laughter. "The villains! The scoundrels! But who can they be? I fear there can be little doubt as to what mischief they are up to."

"We have not the smallest clue to trace them by," said Robin, with a vexed expression.

"Not the smallest. I don't even know what quarter of the town we are in now," returned Sam.

"The handkerchiefs!" exclaimed Robin with sudden animation.

"Well, what of them?"

"They—they may have names in the corners."

Again the risible Sam burst into a loud laugh, as the idea of scoundrels possessing any handkerchiefs of their own at all, much less having their names marked in the corners; and poor Robin, whose memories of maternal care had prompted the thought, felt some degree of confusion, which was deepened when he discovered that the kerchiefs, with which their eyes had been bound, were their own.

They were startled by a gruff voice demanding to know what they were laughing at, and kicking up such a row at that time of the morning!

It was one of the guardians of the night, who became very polite on drawing nearer and being informed, in a mild voice, by Sam that they had lost their way and would be much indebted for guidance, for Sam thought it best to say nothing about their adventure until they had had ample time to think it over and decide what was best to be done.

Having been directed how to go, having lost themselves a second time, and been directed again by another guardian, they found themselves at last in the neighbourhood of the port, and here the sound of loud voices, as if engaged in some nocturnal orgies, was heard in the distance.

"As we seem in for a night of adventure," said Sam, "we may as well accept our fate, and go see what it's all about."

"Agreed," said Robin.

Hurrying forward, they came upon a remarkable and picturesque scene. The engineers of the Great Eastern had chosen the previous day for the laying of the mile of land-line, with which the cable was to be connected. The burying of it in its appointed home had commenced at half-past six in the evening and had continued all through the night. It was about 2 a.m. when our adventurers came upon the scene. The trench was cut through ground on which a number of soldiers were encamped, whose white tents looked ghostlike in the feeble star-light, and lines of naked natives were seen, waving lanterns, pushing along the mysterious cable, or, with hands and feet busily pressing down the loose soil that covered the buried portion.

The whole operation was conducted with a superabundance of noise, for the burying of a rope in a trench three feet deep was in itself such a tremendous joke to the coolies, that they entered upon it with much excitement as a sort of unusual piece of fun. That they were in some degree also impressed with the mysterious and important object of their work might have been gathered from their chant:—"Good are the cable-wallahs, great are their names; good are the cable-wallahs, wah! wah! wah! great are the cable-wallahs, wah!" which they continued without intermission all through the night, to their own intense delight and to the annoyance no doubt of the military unfortunates who were encamped on the ground.

Besides the naked fellows who, in their excitement and activity, resembled good-humoured, brown demons, there were many other figures in English dress moving about, directing and encouraging, running from point to point, flitting to and fro like wills-o'-the-wisp, for all bore lights, and plunged ever and anon out of sight in the trench. Between three and four o'clock the work was completed; tests were taken, the portion of cable was pronounced perfect, and communication was thus established between the cable-house and Rampart Row. This was the first link in the great chain of submarine telegraphy between India and England.

"Now, Robin," said Sam, with a tremendous yawn, "as we've seen the first act in the play, it is time, I think, to go home to bed."

With a yawn that rivalled that of his comrade, Robin admitted the propriety of the proposal, and, half an hour later, they turned in, to sleep—"perchance to dream!"



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

DESCRIBES SEVERAL IMPORTANT EVENTS.

The laying of this thick shore-end of the cable was an important point in the great work.

By that time Robin and cousin Sam had been regularly installed as members of the expedition, and were told off with many others to assist at the operation.

The Chiltern carried the great coil in her tanks. After rounding Colaba Point into Back Bay, she found a barge waiting to receive some two-and-a-half miles of the cable, with which she was to proceed to the shore. The barge resembled a huge Noah's Ark, having a canvas awning to protect the cable, which was very sensitive to heat.

A measure of anxiety is natural at the beginning of most enterprises, and there were some who dreaded a "hitch" with superstitious fear, as if it would be a bad omen. But all went well.

"Now then, boys—shove her along; push her through," said an experienced leader among the cable-hands, who grasped the great coil and guided it. The men took up the words at once, and, to this species of spoken chorus, "shove her along, push her through," the snaky coil was sent rattling over the pulley-wheels by the tank and along the wooden gutter prepared for it, to the paying-out wheel at the Chiltern's stern, whence it plunged down into the barge, where other experienced hands coiled it carefully round and round the entire deck.

It is difficult to describe the almost tender solicitude with which all this was done. The cable was passed carefully—so carefully—through all the huge staples that were to direct its course from the fore-tank to the wheel at the stern. Then it was made to pass over a wheel here and under a wheel there, to restrain its impetuosity, besides being passed three times round a drum, which controlled the paying-out. A man stood ready at a wheel, which, by a few rapid turns, could bring the whole affair to a standstill should anything go wrong. In the fore-tank eight men guided each coil to prevent entanglement, and on deck men were stationed a few feet apart all along to the stern, to watch every foot as it passed out. Three hours completed the transfer. Then the barge went slowly shoreward, dropping the cable into the sea as she went.

It was quite a solemn procession! First went a Government steam-tug, flaunting flags from deck to trucks as thick as they could hang. Then came the barge with her precious cargo. Then two boats full of cable-hands, and an official gig pulled by a Chinaman, while the steam-launch Electric kept buzzing about as if superintending all.

When the tug had drawn the barge shoreward as far as she could with safety, the smaller "Electric" took her place. When she also had advanced as far as her draught allowed, a boat carried to the shore a hawser, one end of which was attached to the cable. Then the cable-hands dropped over the sides of the barge up to waist, chest, or neck, (according to size), and, ranging themselves on either side of the rope and cable, dragged the latter to the shore, up the trench made for its reception, and laid its end on the great stone table, where it was made fast, tested by the electricians, as we have said, and pronounced perfect.

A few more days had to pass before the insatiable Great Eastern was filled with coal and reported ready for sea. Then, as a matter of course, she wound up with a grand feast—a luncheon—on board, at which many of the leading authorities and merchants of Bombay were present, with a brilliant company which entirely filled the spacious saloons.

"Owing to circumstances," said Sam to Robin that day, "over which we have no control, you and I cannot be included among the guests at this approaching feast."

"I'm sorry for that, Sam," said our hero.

"Why so, Robin? Does a morbid devotion to chicken and ham, or sweets, influence you?"

"Not at all, though I make no pretence of indifference to such things, but I should so much like to hear the speeches."

"Well, my boy, your desire shall be gratified. Through the influence of our, I might almost say miraculous, friend, Frank Hedley, we shall be permitted to witness the proceedings from a retired corner of the saloon, in company with crockery and waiters and other debris of the feast."

At the appointed time the company assembled, and enjoyed as good a luncheon as money could procure.

"How some people do eat!" murmured Robin from his corner to Sam, who sat beside him.

"Yes, for it is their nature to," replied Sam.

After the first toast was drunk the company braced themselves to the mental work of the afternoon, and although, as a matter of course, a good deal of twaddle was spoken, there was also much that threw light on the subject of ocean telegraphy. One of the leading merchants said, in his opening remarks: "Few of those present, I daresay, are really familiar with the history of ocean telegraphy."

"Ah!" whispered Robin to Sam, "that's the man for me. He's sure to tell us a good deal that we don't know, and although I have been ransacking Bombay ever since I arrived, for information, I don't yet feel that I know much."

"Hold your tongue, Robin, and listen," said Sam.

"Mind your foot, sir," remonstrated one of the steward's assistants, who had a lugubrious countenance.

Robin took his foot out of a soup tureen, and applied himself to listen.

"When I reflect," continued the merchant, "that it is now fourteen years since the first ocean telegraph of any importance was laid,—when I remember that the first cable was laid after an infinity of personal effort on the part of those who had to raise the capital,—when I mention that it was really a work of house-to-house visitation, when sums of 500 pounds to 1000 pounds, and even 10,000 pounds were raised by private subscription, with a view to laying a telegraph cable between England and America, when I reflect that the Queen's Government granted the use of one of its most splendid vessels, the Agamemnon (Hear! hear! and applause), and that the American Government granted the use of an equally fine vessel, the Niagara—" (Hear! hear! and another round of applause, directed at the American Consul, who was present.)

("Five glasses smashed that round," growled the lugubrious waiter.)

"When I reflect," continued the merchant, "that the expedition set out in 1857 with the greatest hopefulness, but proved a total failure—that the earnest men (Hear! hear!) connected with it again set to work the following year, and laid another cable (Applause), which, after passing through it a few messages of great importance to England and America (Hear!) also ceased communication, which so damped the courage of all concerned, that for seven or eight weary years nothing was attempted—no, I should not say nothing, for during that period Mr Cyrus Field," (thunders of long-continued applause, during which the lugubrious waiter counted the demolition of six glasses and two dessert plates), "without whose able and persevering advocacy it is a question whether to this day we should have had ocean telegraphy carried out at all—during that period, I say, Mr Cyrus Field never gave himself rest until he had inspired others with some of the enthusiasm that burned so brightly in himself, which resulted in the renewed effort of 1865, with its failure and loss of 1213 miles of cable,—when I think of the indomitable pluck and confidence shown by such men as Thomas Brassey, Sir Samuel Canning, Sir James Anderson, Sir Daniel Gooch, Sir Richard Glass, Mr George Elliot. Mr Fender, Captain Sherard Osborn, and others—men of mind, and men of capital, and men who could see no difficulties—and I like men who can see no difficulties," (Hear! hear! and loud applause.)

("You'll see more difficulties than ye bargain for, if ye go through life makin' people smash crockery like that," growled the lugubrious waiter.)

"When I think of these men, and of the formation of the Telegraph Construction and Maintenance Company (Applause), and the successful laying of the 1866 cable, and the picking-up and completion of the old cable," (Loud cheers),—("Hm! a decanter gone this time. Will you take your foot out of the soup tureen, sir," from the lugubrious man, and an impatient "hush!" from Robin.)

"When I think of all these things, and a great deal more that I cannot venture to inflict on the indulgent company (Go on!) I feel that the toast which I have the honour to propose deserves a foremost place in the toasts of the day, and that you will heartily respond to it, namely, Success to the Telegraph Construction and Maintenance Company, for that Company has laid scores of cables since its formation, and has now successfully commenced, and will doubtless triumphantly complete, the laying of the cable which we have met to celebrate to-day—the fourth great enterprise, I may remark, which the Company has undertaken—the cable that is soon to connect India with England."

The merchant sat down amid thunders of applause, during which the reckoning of breakages was lost, and finally abandoned by the lugubrious waiter.

At first Robin and Sam listened with great interest and profound attention, and the former treasured in his memory, or made pencil notes of, such facts and expectations as the following:—That only nine months previously had they commenced the construction of the cable which was now about to be laid; that Captain Halpin in the Great Eastern had laid the French Atlantic cable; that in a few weeks they hoped to connect Bombay with Malta, and two months later with England; that, a few months after that, England would be connected with the Straits of Malacca and Singapore. "In short," said one gentleman at the close of his speech, "we hope that in 1871 India will be connected, chiefly, by submarine telegraph, with China, Australia, Europe, and America, and that your morning messages will reach home about the same hour at which they are sent from here, allowing, of course, for the difference in time; and that afternoon and evening messages from Europe will be in your hands at an early hour next morning."

At this point the heat and unpleasant fumes around him began to tell upon Robin, and he suggested that they had better go on deck for a little fresh air.

"I'll not budge," said Sam, positively. "Why, the best is yet to come."

Saying this, to the surprise of Robin, Sam rose, went forward to the table, and asked permission to make a few remarks.

"Who is he?—what? eh!" exclaimed the chairman. "Turn him out," cried one. "Sit down," cried another. "No, no, let him speak," cried a third. "Don't you know it is Samuel Shipton, the great electrician?"

"Bravo! go on! speak out!" cried several voices, accompanied by loud applause.

"Gentlemen," began Sam in his softest voice, "I regard this as one of the greatest occasions of—of—my life," (Hear! hear! from a fussy guest; and Hush! hush! and then we shall hear here better, from an angry one). "I little thought," continued Sam, warming apparently with his subject—or the heat, "little thought that on this great occasion I could—could—I could—" (would or should; go on, man, from an impatient guest).

"Oh, Sam, don't stick!" cried Robin, in an agony of anxiety.

"Who's that? Put him out!" chorused several voices indignantly.

"There, sir, you've put your foot in it at last," said the lugubrious waiter.

Robin thought he referred to the interruption, but the waiter's eyes and forefinger directed his attention to the soup tureen, which, in his eagerness, he had sacrificed with a stamp. Finding that no further notice was taken of the interruption, he listened, while Sam continued:—

"Yes, gentlemen, I have some difficulty in starting, but, once set agoing, gentlemen, I can keep on like an alarum clock. What nonsense have some of you fellows been talking! Some of you have remarked that you shall be able to exchange messages with England in a few hours. Allow me to assure you that before long you will accomplish that feat in a few minutes."

"Pooh! pooh!" ejaculated an irascible old gentleman with a bald head.

"Did you say 'pooh!' sir?" demanded Sam, with a terrible frown.

"I did, sir," replied the old gentleman, with a contemptuous smile.

"Then, sir, take that."

Sam hurled a wine decanter at the old gentleman, which, missing its mark, fell with a loud crash at the feet of Robin, who awoke with a start to find Sam shaking him by the arm.

"Wake up, Robin," he said; "man, you've lost the best speech of the evening. Come—come on deck now, you've had quite enough of it."

"Yes, an' done enough o' damage too," growled the lugubrious waiter.

So Robin became gradually aware that Sam's speech was a mere fancy, while the smashing of the soup tureen was a hard fact.

It may not, however, be out of place to remark here that the prophecy made by Sam in Robin's dream, did afterwards become a great reality.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

THE CABLE LAID.

"I say, Robin," said Samuel Shipton, as he encountered our hero and Slagg that same evening in the streets of Bombay, "the government land telegraph was reported this morning to have recovered its health."

"Well, what of that?"

"I have taken advantage of the lucid interval to send a telegram to uncle Rik. No doubt your father has by this time received the telegram we sent announcing our safety and arrival here, so this one won't take them by surprise."

"But what is it about?" asked Robin.

"It is sent," replied Sam, "with the intention of converting uncle Rik into a thief-catcher. That stupid waiter told me only this morning that the time he followed Stumps to the harbour, he overheard a sailor conversing with him and praising a certain tavern named the Tartar, near London Bridge, to which he promised to introduce him on their arrival in England; so it struck me that by telegraphing to uncle Rik to find out the owners of the Fairy Queen and the position of the Tartar, he might lay hold of Stumps on his arrival and recover our stolen property."

"But I hope he won't put him in limbo, sir," said Jim Slagg. "I've no objection to recover our property, but somehow I don't like to have the poor fellow transported. You see I can't help thinkin' he was half-cracked when he did it."

"He must take his chance, I suppose," said Sam, thoughtfully. "However, the telegram is off, and, if it ever reaches him, uncle Rik will act with discretion."

"I agree with Jim," said Robin, "and should be sorry to be the means of ruining our old comrade."

"It did not strike me in that light," returned Sam, a little troubled at the thought. "But it can't be helped now. In any case I suppose he could not be tried till we appear as witnesses against him."

"I ain't much of a lawyer," said Slagg, "but it do seem to me that they couldn't very well take him up without some proof that the property wasn't his."

"It may be so," returned Sam; "we shall see when we get home. Meanwhile it behoves us to square up here, for the Great Eastern starts early to-morrow and we must be on board in good time to-night."

Now, you must not imagine, good reader, that we intend to drag you a second time through all the details of laying a deep-sea cable. The process of laying was much the same in its general principles as that already described, but of course marked by all the improvements in machinery, etcetera, which time and experience had suggested. Moreover, the laying of the Indian cable was eminently, we might almost say monotonously, successful, and, consequently, devoid of stirring incident. We shall therefore merely touch on one or two features of interest connected with it, and then pass on to the more important incidents of our story.

When Robin and his comrades drew near to the big ship, she was surrounded by a perfect fleet of native boats, whose owners were endeavouring to persuade the sailors to purchase bananas and other fruits and vegetables; paroquets, sticks, monkeys, and fancy wares.

Next morning, the 14th of February 1870, the Great Eastern lifted her mighty anchor, and spliced the end of the 2375 miles of cable she had on board to the shore-end, which had been laid by the Chiltern. This splice was effected in the presence of the Governor of Bombay, Sir Seymour Fitzgerald, who, with a small party, accompanied the Great Eastern a short distance on its way. Then, embarking in his yacht, they bade God-speed to the expedition, gave them three ringing cheers, and the voyage to Aden began.

Soon the cable-layers were gliding merrily over the bright blue sea at the rate of five or six knots an hour, with the cable going quietly over the stern, the machinery working smoothly, the electrical condition of the cable improving as the sea deepened, and flocks of flying-fish hovering over the crisp and curly waves, as if they were specially interested in the expedition, and wished to bear it company.

All went well, yet were they well prepared for accident or disaster, as Sam informed Robin on the morning of the 16th while sitting at breakfast.

"They have got two gongs, as you've observed, no doubt," he said, "which are never to be sounded except when mischief is brewing. The first intimation of fault or disaster will be a note from one of these gongs, when the ship will be instantly stepped, the brakes put on, and the engines reversed."

"Everything is splendidly prepared and provided for," said Robin; "hand me the sugar, Sam."

"The elasticity and good behaviour of the big ship are all that could be desired," remarked one of the engineers, "though she carries 3000 tons more dead-weight than when she started with the Atlantic cable in 1865."

At that moment there was a lull of consternation round the breakfast-table, for a drumming upon metal was heard! For one instant there was a gaze of doubt round the table. Then they rose en masse; cups were upset, and chairs thrown over; the cabin was crossed at racing speed,—Captain Halpin leading—the stair-case surmounted, and a rush made to the testing-room.

There all was quiet and orderly; the operators placidly pursuing their labours, working out their calculations, or watching the tell-tale spot of light on the scale, and all looking up in silent surprise at the sudden hubbub round their door. It was a false alarm, caused by the steady dripping of a shower-bath on its metal bottom! That was all, but it was sufficient to prove how intensely men were on the qui vive.

It was a wonderful scene, the deck of the Great Eastern— incomprehensible by those who have not seen it. The cabins, offices, workshops, and machinery formed a continuous line of buildings up the centre of the vessel's deck, dividing it into two streets an eighth of a mile long. At the end of one of these were the wheels and drums running from the top of the aft-tank to the stern; and between them and the two thoroughfares were wooden houses which shut them out from view. There was a farmyard also, where cattle were regularly turned out for exercise; there were goats which were allowed to go free about the decks, and chickens which took the liberty of doing so, sometimes, without leave; there were parrots being taken home by the sailors which shrieked their opinions noisily; and there were numerous monkeys, which gambolled in mischievous fun, or sat still, the embodiment of ludicrous despair; while, intermingling with the general noise could be heard the rattle of the paying-out wheels, as the cable passed with solemn dignity and unvarying persistency over the stern into the sea, it seemed almost unheeded, so perfect and self-acting was the machinery; but it was, nevertheless, watched by keen sleepless eyes—as the mouse is watched by the cat—night and day.

The perfection not only achieved but expected, was somewhat absurdly brought out by the electrician in the cable-house at Bombay, who one day complained to the operators on board the Great Eastern that the reply to one of his questions had been from three to twelve seconds late! It must be understood, however, that although the testing of the cable went on continuously during the whole voyage, the sending of messages was not frequent, as that interfered with the general work. Accordingly, communication with the shore was limited to a daily statement from the ship of her position at noon, and to the acknowledgment of the same by the electrician at Bombay.

One of the greatest dangers in paying-out consists in changing from tank to tank when one is emptied, and a full one has to be commenced. This was always an occasion of great interest and anxiety.

About midnight of the 19th the change to the fore-tank was made, and nearly every soul in the ship turned out to see it. The moon was partially obscured, but darkness was made visible by a row of lanterns hung at short intervals along the trough through which the cable was to be passed, making the ship look inconceivably long. As Robin Wright hurried along the deck he observed that both port and starboard watches were on duty, hid in the deep shadow of the wheels, or standing by the bulwark, ready for action. Traversing the entire length of the deck— past the houses of the sheep and pigs; past the great life-boats; past the half-closed door of the testing-room, where the operators maintained their unceasing watch in a flood of light; past the captain's cabin, a species of land-mark or half-way house; past a group of cows and goats lying on the deck chewing the cud peacefully, and past offices and deck-cabins too numerous to mention,—he came at last to the fore-tank, which was so full of cable that the hands ready to act, and standing on the upper coil, had to stoop to save their heads from the deck above.

The after-tank, on the contrary, was by that time a huge yawning pit, twenty-five feet deep, lighted by numerous swinging lamps like a subterranean church, with its hands, like Lilliputians, attending to the last coil of the cable. That coil or layer was full four miles long, but it would soon run out, therefore all was in readiness. The captain was giving directions in a low voice, and seeing that every one was in his place. The chiefs of the engineers and electricians were on the alert. Every few minutes a deep voice from below announced the number of "turns" before the last one. At last the operation was successfully accomplished and the danger past, and the cable was soon running out from the fore-tank as smoothly as it had run out of the other.

The tendency of one flake or coil of cable to stick to the coil immediately below, and produce a wild irremediable entanglement before the ship could be stopped, was another danger, but these and all other mishaps of a serious nature were escaped, and the unusually prosperous voyage was brought to a close on the 27th of February, when the Great Eastern reached Aden in a gale of wind—as if to remind the cable-layers of what might have been—and the cable was cut and buoyed in forty fathoms water.

The continuation of the cable up the Red Sea, the successful termination of the great enterprise, and the start of our hero and his companions for Old England after their work was done, we must unwillingly leave to the reader's imagination.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

UNCLE RIK'S ADVENTURES.

Uncle Rik seated in Mr Wright's drawing-room; Mr Wright in an easy-chair near the window; Mrs Wright—with much of the lustre gone out of her fine eyes—lying languidly on the sofa; Madge Mayland at work on some incomprehensible piece of netting beside her aunt,—all in deep mourning.

Uncle Rik has just opened a telegram, at which he stares, open eyed and mouthed, without speaking, while his ruddy cheeks grow pale.

"Not bad news, I trust, brother," said poor Mrs Wright, to whom the worst news had been conveyed when she heard of the wreck of the Triton. Nothing could exceed that, she felt, in bitterness.

"What is it, Rik?" said Mr Wright, anxiously.

"Oh! nothing—nothing. That is to say, not bad news, certainly, but amazing news. Boh! I'm a fool."

He stopped short after this complimentary assertion, for uncle Rik had somewhere read or heard that joy can kill, and he feared to become an accomplice in a murder.

"Come, Rik, don't keep us in suspense," said his brother, rising; "something has happened."

"O yes, something has indeed happened," cried Rik, "for this telegram is from Sam Shipton."

"Then Robin is alive!" cried Mrs Wright, leaping up, while Madge turned perfectly white.

"No—that is to say—yes—it may be so—of course must be so—for,— bah! what an ass I am! Listen."

He proceeded to read Sam's telegram, while Mrs Wright covered her face with her hands and sank trembling on the sofa.

The telegram having suffered rather severe mutilation at the hands of the foreigners by whom it was transmitted, conveyed a very confusing idea of the facts that were intended, but the puzzling over it by the whole party, and the gradual, though not perfect, elucidation of its meaning, had perhaps the effect of softening the joyful intelligence to a bearable extent.

"Now," said uncle Rik, while the perspiration of mental effort and anxiety stood on his bald forehead, "this is the outcome of it all. Sam clearly says 'all well,' which means, of course, that Robin is alive— thank God for that! Then he refers to a previous telegram, which, of course, must be lost, for it hasn't come to hand. Bah! I wonder the nasty things ever do come to hand. Anyhow, that telegram must have been meant to announce their safe arrival at Bombay, undoubtedly."

"Of course—I see it now," said Mrs Wright, with a deep sigh.

"Of course," echoed Rik. "Then there's some queer reference to a ship and a Fiery Queen, and a Stamps and a Shunks, and a Gibson, and a thief, and three bags, and the port of London, which of course means London, and a public-house named, apparently, Torture—"

"Tartar, I think, uncle," said Madge.

"Well, Tartar if you like, it's much the same if you catch him. And it winds up with a girl—which is not surprisin'—who is to be expectorated—"

"Expected, surely," said Madge, with a rather hysterical laugh, for the conflicting feelings within her tended rather to tears.

"So be it, Madge—expected, with an unreadable name beginning with an L,—and that's all; and a pretty penny he must have paid to send us such a lot o' rubbish."

"It has brought the oil of gladness to our hearts, brother," said Mr Wright, "and is worth its cost. But, now, what do you intend to do?"

"Do!" exclaimed Rik, who was never happier than when he could explode his feelings in action. "I'll go this moment to the port of London, find out the owners of the Fiery Queen, make particular inquiries about the Stampses, Shunkses, and Gibsons, visit Torture public-houses—though they're all that, more or less—and see if I can hear anything about girls to be expectorated, with names beginning with L. There—these are my sailing directions, so—up anchor and away!"

Uncle Rik immediately obeyed his own commands, and spent the remainder of that day in what he styled cruising. And he cruised to some purpose, for although he failed to obtain any information as to the girl, he discovered the owners of the Fairy—not Fiery—Queen, who said that she was expected home in a few weeks, but that they knew nothing whatever about the rather remarkable names which he submitted for their consideration. With this amount of information he was fain to rest content, and returned in an elevated state of mind to his brother's house.

Some weeks after these events, the Wright family was again seated round the social board, as uncle Rik called it, when two visitors were announced. The social meal happening to be tea, and the drawing-room at that time in dishabille, owing to carpet disturbances, the visitors were shown into the dining-room—a lady, accompanied by a pretty little girl.

"Excuse my calling at an unusual hour," said the lady, "but I trust the occasion of my visit will be a sufficient excuse. I have just arrived from Bombay, and hasten to present a letter from your son, and to deliver over my interesting charge, this dear child, Letta Langley, whom—"

"The expectorated girl!" shouted uncle Rik, leaping up, "begins with an L,—two L's indeed. Bah, I'm an idiot! Excuse my excitement, madam— pray go on."

Slightly surprised, but more amused, the lady went on to tell all she knew about Robin and his friends, while the happy mother read snatches of Robin's letter through her tears, and Mr Wright and Madge plied the lady with questions and tea, and Letta, taking at once to uncle Rik, ecstatified, amazed and horrified that retired sea-captain with her charming earnest little ways, her wonderful experiences, and her intimate acquaintance with pirates and their habits.

A letter from Robin to his mother, and another from Sam to Mr Wright, arrived next morning, and proved to be those which had been written immediately after their landing at Bombay, and had been posted, so the writers thought, at the time their first telegram was despatched. But the letters had been given to Stumps to post, and Stumps was not blessed with a good memory, which may account for the delay in transmission. These letters corroborated all the lady had said. Thus was Letta formally installed in the Wright family, and uncle Rik solemnly charged himself with the discovery of her mother!

"Depend upon it, my dear," he said, with an amount of self-sufficient assurance and indomitable resolution that carried sweet consolation to the child's heart, "that I'll find your mother if she's above ground, though the findin' of her should cost me the whole of my fortune and the remainder of my life."

And nobly did Rik redeem his promise. He obtained special introduction to the British Museum, consulted every Directory in existence, hunted up every widow of the name of Langley in the kingdom, and found the right one at last, not three miles distant from his own door in London. Captain Rik, it must be known, had a room in London furnished like a cabin, which he was wont to refer to as his "ship" and his "bunk," but he paid that retreat only occasional visits, finding it more agreeable to live with his brother.

It was a fine Sabbath morning when Rik took Letta's hand and led her into the presence of her mother. He would not let himself be announced, but pushed the child into the drawing-room and shut the door.

With similar delicacy of feeling we now draw a curtain over the meeting of the mother and the long-lost child.

"It's almost too much for me, tough old sea-dog though I am, this perpetual cruisin' about after strange runaway craft," said uncle Rik, as he and Letta walked hand in hand along the streets one day some weeks later. "Here have I been beatin' about for I don't know how long, and I'm only in the middle of it yet. We expect the Fairy Queen in port to-night or to-morrow."

"But you won't hurt poor Stumps when you catch him, will you?" pleaded Letta, looking earnestly up into her companion's jovial face. "He was very nice and kind to me, you know, on Pirate Island."

"No, I'll not hurt him, little old woman," said Rik. "Indeed, I don't know yet for certain that Stumps is a thief; it may be Shunks or it may be Gibson, you see, who is the thief. However, we'll find out before long. Now then, good-bye, I'll be back soon."

He shook hands with Letta at Mr Wright's house, she and her mother having agreed to reside there until Robin's return home.

Wending his way through the streets until he reached one of the great arteries of the metropolis, he got into a 'bus and soon found himself on the banks of the Thames. Arrived at the docks, one of the first vessels his eyes fell on was the Fairy Queen.

Going on board, the first man he met was the captain, to whom he said, touching his hat—

"Excuse me, captain; may I ask if you have a man in your crew named Stumps?"

"No, sir, no such name on my books."

"Nor one named Shunks?"

"No, not even Shunks," replied the captain, with a sternly-humorous look, as if he thought the visitor were jesting.

"Nor Gibson?" continued Rik.

"Yes, I've got one named Gibson. What d'ye want with him?"

"Well, I have reason to believe that he is—or was—a friend of a friend of mine, and I should like to see him."

"Oh! indeed," responded the captain, regarding his visitor with a doubtful look. "Well, Gibson has just got leave to go ashore, and I heard him say to one of his mates he was going to the Tartar public-house, so you'll see him there, probably, for he is not invisible or'narily. But I don't know where the Tartar is."

"But I know," returned Captain Rik; "thank you. I'll go seek him there."

Stumps sat alone in one of the boxes of the Tartar public-house, which at that hour chanced to be nearly empty. His face was buried in his hands, and a pot of untasted beer stood at his elbow. Poor Stumps! Conscience had been remarkably busy with him on the voyage home. He would have given worlds to have got back to Bombay, return the ill-gotten bags, and confess his guilt, but it was too late—too late.

There is something very awful in these words, too late! We read of and hear them often, and we use them sometimes, lightly it may be, but it is only when they can be used by ourselves with reference to something very serious, that we have a glimmering of their terrible significance. There is a proverb, "It is never too late to mend," which is misleading. When the dream of life is over, and the doom is fixed, it is too late to mend. No doubt the proverb is meant to refer to our condition while this life lasts, but even here it is misleading. When the murderer withdraws the knife and gazes, it may be, horror-struck at the expressionless face of his victim, it is too late. He cannot mend the severed thread of life. When the reckless drunkard draws near the end of his career, and looks in the mirror, and starts to see the wreck of his former self, it is too late. Health will never more return. Not too late, blessed be God, for the salvation of the soul, but too late for the recovery of all that was held dear in the life of earth.

Yes, Stumps had many a time while on the sea muttered to himself, "Too late!" He did so once again in that low public-house near the docks. Uncle Rik overheard him, and a feeling of profound pity arose within him.

"I beg pardon," he said, and at the first word Stumps looked quickly, almost fiercely, up, "your name, I believe, is Gibson."

"No, it isn't—I, that is to say—Well, yes it is. Sailors has got aliases, you know, sometimes. What d'ye want wi' me?"

"You were acquainted in Bombay," resumed Captain Wright, very quietly, as he sat down opposite to Stumps, "with a young man named Wright—Robin Wright?"

Stumps's face became deadly pale.

"Ah! I see you were," resumed the captain; "and you and he had something to do, now, with bags of some sort?"

The captain was, as the reader knows, profoundly ignorant of everything connected with the bags except their existence, but he had his suspicions, and thought this a rather knowing way of inducing Stumps to commit himself. His surprise, then, may be imagined when Stumps, instead of replying, leaped up and dashed wildly out of the room, overturning the pot of beer upon Captain Rik's legs.

Stumps shot like an arrow past the landlord, a retired pugilist, who chanced to be in the doorway. Captain Rik, recovering, darted after him, but was arrested by the landlord.

"Not quite so fast, old gen'l'man! As you've had some of your mate's beer, you'd better pay for it."

"Let me go!—stop him!" cried the captain, struggling.

As well might he have struggled in the grasp of Hercules. His reason asserted itself the instant the fugitive was out of sight. He silently paid for the beer, went back to the Fairy Queen to inform the captain that his man Gibson was a thief—to which the captain replied that it was very probable, but that it was no business of his—and then wandered sadly back to tell the Wright family how Gibson, alias Stumps, alias Shunks, had been found and lost.



CHAPTER THIRTY.

THE WRIGHT FAMILY REUNITED, AND SAM BECOMES HIGHLY ELECTRICAL.

That much-abused and oft-neglected meal called tea had always been a scene of great festivity and good-fellowship in the Wright family. Circumstances, uncontrollable of course, had from the beginning necessitated a dinner at one o'clock, so that they assembled round the family board at six each evening, in a hungry and happy frame of body and mind, (which late diners would envy if they understood it), with the prospect of an evening—not bed—before them.

In the earlier years of the family, the meal had been, so to speak, a riotous one, for both Robin and Madge had uncontrollable spirits, with tendencies to drop spoons on the floor, and overturn jugs of milk on the table. Later on, the meal became a jolly one, and, still later, a chatty one—especially after uncle Rik and cousin Sam began to be frequent guests.

But never in all the experience of the family had the favourite meal been so jolly, so prolific of spoony and porcelain accidents, so chatty, and so generally riotous, as it was on a certain evening in June of the year 1870, shortly after the return home of Robin and his companions.

Besides the original Wright family, consisting of father, mother, Robin, and Madge, there were assembled uncle Rik, Sam Shipton, Mrs Langley, Letta, and—no—not Jim Slagg. The circle was unavoidably incomplete, for Jim had a mother, and Jim had said with indignant emphasis, "did they suppose all the teas an' dinners an' suppers, to say nothin' o' breakfasts, an' mess-mates an' chums an' friends, crammed and jammed into one enormous mass temptation, would indooce him to delay his return to that old lady for the smallest fraction of an hour?" No, Jim Slagg was not at the table, but the household cat was under it, and the demoralising attentions that creature received on that occasion went far to undo the careful training of previous years.

The occasion of the gathering was not simple. It was compound. First, it was in commemoration of Robin's birthday; second, it was to celebrate the appointment of Sam Shipton to an influential position on the electrical staff of the Telegraph Construction and Maintenance Company, and Sam's engagement to Marjory Mayland; third, to celebrate the appointment of Robin Wright to a sufficiently lucrative and hopeful post under Sam; and, lastly, to enjoy the passing hour.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said uncle Rik, getting on his feet with some difficulty, when the tea, toast, muffins, eggs, and other fare had blunted the appetites, "I rise to propose the toast of the evening, and mark you, I don't mean to use any butter with this toast," (Hear, from Sam), "unless I'm egged on," (Oh!), "to do it—so I charge you to charge your cups with tea, since we're not allowed grog in this tee-total ship—though I'm free to confess that I go in with you there, for I've long since given, up the use o' that pernicious though pleasant beverage, takin' it always neat, now, in the form of cold water, varied occasionally with hot tea and coffee. My toast, ladies and gentlemen, is Rob—" (Rik put his hand to his throat to ease off his necktie), "is Robin Wright, whom I've known, off an' on, as a babby, boy, an' man, almost ever since that night—now twenty years ago, more or less—when he was launched upon the sea in thunder, lightning, and in rain. I've known him, I say—ever since—off an' on—and I'm bound to say that—"

The captain paused. He had meant to be funny, but the occasion proved too much for him.

"Bless you, Robin, my lad," he gasped, suddenly stretching his large hand across the table and grasping that of his nephew, which was quickly extended. After shaking it with intense vigour he sat promptly down and blew his nose.

The thunders of applause which burst from Sam and Mr Wright were joined in even by the ladies, who, in the excess of their sympathy, made use of knife-handles and spoons with such manly vigour that several pieces of crockery went "by the board," as the captain himself remarked, and the household cat became positively electrified and negatively mad,— inasmuch as it was repelled by the horrors around, and denied itself the remaining pleasure of the tea-table by flying wildly from the room.

Of course, Robin attempted a reply, but was equally unsuccessful in expressing his real sentiments, or the true state of his feelings, but uncle Rik came to the rescue by turning sharply on Sam and demanding—

"Do you really mean to tell me, sir, that, after all your experience, you still believe in telegraphs and steamboats?"

Sam promptly asserted that he really did mean that.

"Of course," returned the captain, "you can't help believing in their existence—for facts are facts—but are you so soft, so unphilosophical, so idiotical as to believe in their continuance? That's the point, lad—their continuance. Are you not aware that, in course o' time, rust they must—"

"An' then they'll bu'st," interpolated Robin.

"Hee! hee! ha!" giggled Letta, who, during all this time, had been gazing with sparkling eyes and parted lips, from one speaker to another, utterly forgetful of, and therefore thoroughly enjoying, her own existence.

"Yes, then they'll bu'st," repeated Rik, with an approving nod at Robin; "you're right, my boy, and the sooner they do it the better, for I'm quite sick of their flashings and crashings."

"I rather suspect, Sam," said Mr Wright, "that the gentlemen with whom you dined the other day would not agree with uncle Rik."

"Whom do you refer to, George?" asked Mrs Wright.

"Has he not yet told you of the grand 'inaugural fete,' as they call it, that was given at the house of Mr Fender, chairman of the Telegraph Construction and Maintenance Company, to celebrate the opening of direct submarine telegraphic communication with India?"

"Not a word," replied Mrs Wright, looking at Sam.

"You never mentioned it to me," said Madge, with a reproachful glance in the same direction.

"Because, Madge, we have been so busy in talking about something else," said Sam, "that I really forgot all about it."

"Do tell us about it now," said Mrs Langley, who, like her daughter, had been listening in silence up to this point.

"A deal o' rubbish was spoken, I daresay," observed the captain, commencing to another muffin, and demanding more tea.

"A deal of something was spoken, at all events," said Sam, "and what is more to the point, an amazing deal was done. Come, before speaking about it, let me propose a toast—Success to Batteries and Boilers!"

"Amen to that!" said Robin, with enthusiasm.

"If they deserve it," said the captain, with caution.

The toast having been drunk with all the honours, Sam began by saying that the fete was a great occasion, and included brilliant company.

"There were present, of course," he said, "nearly all the great electrical and engineering lights of the day, also the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Cambridge, with a lot of aristocrats, whom it is not necessary to mention in the presence of a democratic sea-dog like uncle Rik."

"Don't yaw about to defame me, but keep to your course, Sam."

"Well, you have no idea what an amount of interest and enthusiasm the affair created. You all know, of course, that the Indian cable, which Robin and I had a hand in laying, is now connected with the lines that pass between Suez, Alexandria, Malta, Gibraltar, Lisbon, and England; and the company assembled at Mr Pender's house witnessed the sending of the first messages direct from London to Bombay; and how long, do you think, it took to send the first message, and receive a reply?—only five minutes!"

"You don't mean it, Sam!" exclaimed Rik, getting excited, in spite of his professed unbelief.

"Indeed I do," replied Sam, warming with his subject. "I tell you the sober truth, however difficult it may be for you to believe it. You may see it in the papers of the 24th or 25th, I suppose. Here is my note-book, in which I jotted down the most interesting points.

"The proceedings of the evening were opened by the managing director in London sending a telegram to the manager at Bombay.

"'How are you all?' was the brief first telegram by Sir James Anderson. 'All well,' was the briefer first reply from Bombay. The question fled from London at 9:18 exactly—I had my watch in my hand at the time—and the answer came back at 9:23—just five minutes. I can tell you it was hard to believe that the whole thing was not a practical joke. In fact, the message and reply were almost instantaneous, the five minutes being chiefly occupied in manipulating the instruments at either end. The second message between the same parties occupied the same time. After that Sir Bartle Frere sent a telegram to Sir Seymour Fitzgerald, the Governor of Bombay, as follows:—'Sir Bartle Frere wishes health and prosperity to all old friends in Bombay.' This was received by the Company's superintendent at Bombay, and the acknowledgment of its receipt sent back in four minutes and fifty seconds! But the reply from the Governor, 'Your old friend returns your good wishes,' did not come to us for thirty-six minutes, because the message had to be sent to the Governor's house, and it found his Excellency in bed.

"Next, a message was sent by Lady Mayo in London to Lord Mayo at Simla, which, with the acknowledgment of it, occupied 15 minutes in transmission. Of course time was lost in some cases, because the persons telegraphed to were not on the spot at the moment. The Prince of Wales telegraphed to the Viceroy of India, 'I congratulate your Excellency on England and India being now connected by a submarine cable. I feel assured this grand achievement will prove of immense benefit to the welfare of the Empire. Its success is thus matter of imperial interest,' which telegram passed out, and the acknowledgment of its receipt in India was returned to London, all within eleven minutes, but, as in the former case, the Viceroy was in bed, so that his reply was not received till forty-five minutes had elapsed. Had the Viceroy been at the Indian end of the wire, he and the Prince could have conversed at an average rate of five minutes a sentence.

"Many other messages were sent to and fro," continued Sam, turning over the leaves of his note-book, "not only from London to India, but to each of the intermediate stations on the cable line, so that we had direct intercourse that night with the King of Portugal, the Governors of Gibraltar, Malta, and Aden, and the Khedive of Egypt. But that was not all. We put the old and the new world into communication, so that the 'press of India sent salaam to the press of America.' Sir James Anderson also telegraphed to Cyrus W. Field, Esquire, the father of submarine telegraphy in my estimation," (Hear, hear, from Robin), "and he sent a reply, which began, 'Your message of this evening received by me before five o'clock this afternoon.' Mark that, Captain Rik, the message received before it was sent, so to speak!"

"Ay, ay, lad—I know—difference of longitude,—fire away."

"Well, I have fired away most of my ammunition now," returned Sam, "and if you don't haul down your colours, it must be because you have nailed them to the mast and are blind to reason. I may add, however, that the Viceroy of India sent a telegram to the President of the United States, to which he got a reply in seven hours and forty minutes, but the slowness of this message was accounted for by the fact of accidental and partly unavoidable delay in transmission both in Washington and London. At 1:30 a.m. of the 24th the traffic of the line became pressing, and all complimentary messages ceased with one from Bombay, which said, 'Sun just risen; delightfully cool; raining.'"

"Doesn't it seem as if the Baron Monkhausen's tales were possible after all?" remarked Mrs Wright, looking as if her mind had got slightly confused.

"The Baron's tales are mere child's-play, mother," said Robin, "to the grand facts of electricity."

"That's so, Robin," said Sam, still turning over the leaves of his note-book, "and we had some magnificent experiments or illustrations at the fete, which go far to prove the truth of your remark—experiments which were so beautiful that they would have made the eyes of Letta sparkle even more gorgeously than they are doing at present, if she had seen them."

Letta blushed, returned to self-consciousness for a moment, looked down, laughed, looked up as Sam proceeded, and soon again forgot herself in a fixed and earnest gaze.

"The two telegraph instruments communicating with India and America, which stood on two tables, side by side, in Mr Pender's house, were supplied by two batteries in the basement of the building. Eighty cells of Daniel's battery were used upon the Penzance circuit for India, and 100 cells on the Brest circuit for America. The ordinary water-pipes of the house served to connect the batteries with the earth, so as to enable them to pump their electricity from that inexhaustible reservoir."

"I was not aware that electricity had to be pumped up through pipes like water," interrupted Mrs Wright, on whose mild countenance a complication of puzzled expressions was gradually gathering.

"It is not so pumped up," said Sam. "The pipes were used, not because they were pipes, but because they were metal, and therefore good conductors."

"But you haven't told us about the beautiful experiments yet," murmured Letta, a little impatiently.

"I'm coming to them, little one," said Sam. "One battery exhibited the power as well as the beauty of that mysterious force which we call electricity. It was the large Grove battery. A current passed from it to copper wires, in a certain manner, produced a dazzling green light, and the copper melted like wax. With silver a still brighter and purer green flame was the result. With platinum an intense white light was given off, and the molten metal fell in globules of exceeding brilliancy. With iron lovely coruscations were exhibited, the boiling vapour flying and burning in all directions; and a platinum wire three feet long was in an instant melted into thousands of minute globules. All this showed the power of electricity to produce intense heat when resistance is opposed to its passage."

"It is remarkably human-like in that respect," said Captain Rik, in an under-tone.

"Then its power to produce magnetism," continued Sam, "was shown by Lord Lindsay's huge electro-magnet. This magnet, you must know, is nothing but a bit of ordinary metal until it is electrified, when it becomes a most powerful magnet. But the instant the current is cut off from it, it ceases to be a magnet. If you understood much about electricity," said Sam, looking round on his rapt audience, "I might tell you that it is upon this power of making a piece of iron a magnet or not at pleasure, that depend the Morse and Digne telegraph instruments; but as you don't understand, I won't perplex you further. Well, when a piece of sheet copper was passed between the poles of Lord Lindsay's giant magnet, it was as difficult to move as if it had been sticking in cheese—though it was in reality touching nothing!—influenced only by attraction." ("That beats your power over Sam, Madge," whispered Robin. "No it doesn't," whispered Madge in reply.) "Then, one most beautiful experiment I could not hope to get you to understand, but its result was, that a ten-gallon glass jar, coated inside and out with perforated squares of tinfoil, was filled with tens of thousands of brilliant sparks, which produced so much noise as completely to drown the voices of those who described the experiment. A knowledge of these and other deep things, and of the laws that govern them, has enabled Sir William Thomson and Mr Cromwell F. Varley to expedite the transmission of messages through very long submarine cables in an enormous degree. Then the aurora borealis was illustrated by a large long exhausted tube—"

"I say, Sam," interrupted Rik, "don't you think there's just a possibility of our becoming a large long-exhausted company if you don't bring this interesting lecture to a close?"

"Shame! shame! uncle Rik," cried Robin.

As the rest of the company sided with him, the captain had to give way, and Sam went on.

"I won't try your patience much longer; in fact I have nearly come to an end. In this long exhausted tube, ten feet in length and three inches in diameter, a brilliant and beautiful crimson stream was produced, by means of an induction coil. In short, the occasion and, the proceedings altogether, made it the most interesting evening I have ever spent in my life, e-except—"

Sam paused abruptly, and looked at Madge. Madge blushed and looked down under the table,—presumably for the cat,—and the rest of the company burst into an uproarious fit of laughter, in which condition we will leave them and convey the reader to a very different though not less interesting scene.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

DESCRIBES A HAPPY HOME AND A HAPPIER MEETING.

In a small wayside cottage in the outskirts of one of those picturesque villages which surround London, an old woman sat at the head of a small deal table, with a black teapot, a brown sugar-basin, a yellow milk jug, and a cracked tea-cup before her.

At the foot of the same table sat a young man, with a large knife in one hand, a huge loaf of bread in the other, and a mass of yellow butter in a blue plate in front of him.

The young man was James Slagg; the old woman was his mother. Jim had no brothers or sisters, and his father chanced to be absent at market, so he had the "old lady" all to himself.

"Well, well, Jim," said Mrs Slagg, with a loving look at her son's flushed face, "you've told me a heap o' wonderful tales about telegrumphs, an' tigers, an' electricity an' what not. If you was as great a liar as you was used to be, Jim, I tell 'ee plain, lad, I wouldn't believe one word on it. But you're a better boy than you was, Jim, an' I do believe you—indeed I do, though I must confess that some on it is hard to swallow."

"Thank 'ee, mother," said Jim, with a pleasant nod, as he cut an enormous slice from the loaf, trowelled upon it a mass of the yellow butter, and pushed in his cup for more tea.

"It was good of ye, Jim," said the old woman, "to leave all yer fine friends and come straight away here to see your mother."

"Good o' me!" ejaculated Jim, with his mouth full—too full, we might say—"what goodness is there in a feller goin' home, eh? Who's finer, I should like to know, than a feller's mother?"

"Well, you are a good boy, Jim," said the old woman, glancing at a superannuated clock, which told of the moments in loud, almost absurd solemnity; "but if you don't stop talkin' and go on wi' your eatin', you'll lose the train."

"True, mother. Time and tide, they say, wait for no man; but trains is wuss than time or tide, they won't even wait for a woman."

"But why go at all to-day, Jim; won't to-morrow do?"

"No, mother, it won't do. I didn't mean to tell 'ee till I came back, for fear it should be a mistake; but I can't keep nothin' from you, old lady, so I may as well ease my mind before I go. The fact is, I've just heard of the whereabouts of John Shanks—Stumps, you know—my old mate, that I've told you bolted with all our treasure from Bombay. Ah! mother, if I'd only brought that treasure home wi' me, it's a lady you'd have bin to-day. I had all sorts o' plans for you—a coach an' six was—"

"Never mind your plans, Jim, but tell me about poor Stumps."

"Well, mother, a tramp came past here, an' had a bit of a talk wi' me yesterday. You know I ginerally have a bit of a chat wi' tramps now, ever since that city missionary—God bless him—pulled me up at the docks, an' began talkin' to me about my soul. Well, that tramp came here early this mornin', sayin' he'd bin in a poor woman's house in the city, where there was a man dyin' in a corner. While he was talkin' with some o' the people there he chanced to mention my name, an' observed that the dyin' man got excited when he heard it, and called to the tramp and asked him about me, and then begged him, for love and for money, which he offered him, to come and fetch me to him as fast as he could, sayin' that his name was Stumps, and he knew me. So, you see, as the next train is the first that—you needn't look at the clock so often, old lady; it's full ten minutes yet, and I'll back my legs to do it in three."

"Don't forget to take your Bible wi' you, dear boy."

Jim Slagg rose with a pleasant nod, slapped the breast of his coat, on which the oblong form of a small book in the pocket could be traced, said "Good-day, mother," and left the cottage.

It was not long before he stood in the dark passage which led to the room described to him by the tramp. The old woman who rented it gave him her unasked opinion of her lodger before admitting him.

"You've got no notion, sir, what a strange character that young man is."

"O yes, I have; let me see him," said Slagg.

"But, sir," continued the landlady, detaining him, "you must be careful, for he ain't hisself quite. Not that he's ever done anythink wiolent to me, poor young man, but he's strong in his fits, an' he raves terribly."

"Has no doctor bin to see him?" asked Slagg.

"No; he won't let me send for one. He says it's o' no use, an' he couldn't afford to pay for one. An' oh! you've no notion what a miser that poor young man is. He must have plenty of money, for the box as he takes it out on—an' it's at his head he keeps it, day and night, ginerally holdin' it with one hand—seems full o' money, for it's wonderful heavy. I could see that when he brought it here, an' there's no clo'es in it, that I can see, when he opens it, to get at the few pence he wants now an' again. An' he starves hisself, an' says he's not fit to live, an' calls hisself sitch awful names, an'—"

"Well, well, show me his room," said Slagg, with as much decision in his tone as compelled immediate obedience.

In the corner of a small room, on a truckle-bed, with scant bedding, lay the emaciated form of John Shanks, alias Stumps, alias James Gibson. He had raised himself on one elbow, and was gazing with great lustrous invalid eyes at the door, when his old comrade entered, for he had been watching, and heard the first sound of footsteps in the passage.

"Oh! Jim Slagg," he cried, extending a hand which bore strong resemblance to a claw, it was so thin. "Come to me, Jim, How I've wished an' longed, an'—"

He stopped and burst into tears, for he was very weak, poor fellow, and even strong men weep when their strength is brought low.

"Come now, Stumps," said Slagg, in a serious voice, as he sat down on the bed, put an arm round his old comrade's thin shoulders, and made him lie down, "if you go to excite yourself like that, I'll—I'll—quit the room, an' I won't come back for an hour or more."

"No! O no!" exclaimed the sick man; clutching Slagg's arm with a trembling grip, "don't leave me, Jim—don't, don't! I shall die if you do! I'm dyin' anyhow, but it will kill me quicker if you go."

"Well, I won't go. There, keep quiet, my poor old Stumps."

"Yes, that's it—that's it—I like to hear the old name," murmured the sick man, closing his eyes. "Say it again, Jim—say it again."

"Stumps," said Slagg, getting down on his knees, the better to arrange and grasp his former comrade, "don't be a fool now, but listen. I have come to look after you, so make your mind easy."

"But I've been such a beast to you, Jim; it was so awful shabby," cried Stumps, rousing himself again, "and I've been so sorry ever since. You can't think how sorry. I have repented, Jim, if ever a man did. An' I'd have come back and confessed long ago, if I'd had the chance, but I can get no rest—no peace. I've never spent a rap of it, Jim, except what I couldn't help—for you know, Jim, body an' soul wouldn't stick together without a little o' suthin' to eat an' drink; an' when I was ill I couldn't work, you know. See, it's all here—all here—except what little—"

He stopped abruptly, having raised himself to open the lid of the box at his elbow, but his strength failed, and he sank on the pillow with a groan.

"Stumps," said Slagg, "come, old boy, you an' me will have a bit of prayer together."

The sick man opened his great eyes in astonishment. It was so unlike his old friend's brusque rollicking character to propose prayer, that he fancied he must be dreaming, and the possibility of the visit turning out unreal, induced an expression of distress on his haggard countenance. On being ordered, however, in the peremptory and familiar tones of former days, to shut his eyes, he felt reassured and became calm, while his friend prayed for him.

It was not a set or formal prayer by any means. It sounded strangely like a man asking a friend, in commonplace terms, but very earnestly, to give him what he stood in great need of; and what Jim asked for was the salvation of his friend's soul and his restoration to health. The petition, therefore, was remarkably brief, yet full of reverence, for Jim, though naturally blunt and straightforward, felt that he was addressing the great and blessed God and Saviour, who had so recently rescued his own soul.

After saying "Amen!" which the sick man echoed, Slagg pulled out his Bible and read through the fourteenth chapter of John's gospel, commenting quietly as he went along, while his comrade listened with intense earnestness. At the first verse Jim paused and said, "This wasn't written to holy and sinless men. 'Let not your heart be troubled,' was said to the disciples, one o' them bein' Peter, the man who was to deny Jesus three times with oaths and curses, and then forsake Him. The Lord came to save sinners. It would be a poor look-out for you, Stumps, if you thought yourself a good man."

"But I don't—oh! I don't, and you know I don't!" exclaimed the sick man vehemently.

"Then the Lord says, 'Let not your heart be troubled,' and tells you to believe in God and Himself."

At the second verse Slagg remarked that it would be a sad, sad thing if the mansion prepared, among the many mansions, for his friend were to be left empty.

"But how am I to get to it, Jim; how am I ever to find the way?"

"Just what the disciple named Thomas asked—an' he was a very doubting follower of Jesus, like too many of us. The Master said to him what He says to you and me, 'I am the way and the truth and the life; no one cometh unto the Father but by me.'"

At the ninth verse the sailor-missionary said, "Jesus is God, you see, so we're safe to trust Him," and, at the thirteenth verse, "Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name that will I do," he said. "Now, we have asked Jesus to save you, and He will do it, by His Holy Spirit, as He has saved me—has saved millions in time past, and will save millions more in time to come. Why, you see, in the sixteenth verse He tells you He will pray the Father to send you a Comforter, who will stay with you for ever. Has He not reason then for beginnin' with 'let not your heart be troubled'? And that same Comforter, the Holy Spirit, is to 'teach us all things,' so, you see, every difficulty is taken out of our way. 'Arise, let us go hence.' Now, my old messmate, I have arisen. Will you not arise and go with me, both of us looking unto Jesus?"

"I will—God helping me!" cried the sick man, literally arising from his couch and raising both arms to heaven.

"There, now—thank the Lord; but you must lie down again and keep quiet," said Jim, gently and kindly forcing his friend backward.

Stumps did not resist. He closed his eyes, and the restful feeling that had suddenly arisen in his heart when he said the momentous words, "I will," coupled with exhaustion, resulted almost instantaneously in a quiet slumber.

"When did he eat last?" asked Slagg of the old woman, in a low voice, for he had been taught, or had learned intuitively, that few things are more disheartening in a sick-room than a whisper.

"This morning he breakfasted at six, but it was on'y a hap'orth o' bread and a drink o' cold water."

"And how dare you starve your lodger in that way?" demanded Slagg, leading the astonished woman into the passage and closing the door. "Don't you know that starving a man is equal to murdering him, and that you'll be liable to be hung if he dies? There, take this half-sov, and be off to the nearest shop, an' buy—let me see—sassengers and steaks and—oh, you know better than me what a sick man wants. Get along with you, and be back sharp. Stay! where are your matches? Ah! Any coals? Good, now away with you and fetch a doctor too, else I'll fetch a policeman, you bolster of bones."