The volcano went to sleep again for a short time after that little indication of its power, and you may be sure that old Rigonda did not wait for its reawakening. One of his own ships was on the point of sailing that very day. He went on board—after cleaning himself—got Brooks to wind up their business relations in the cabin, and left for England with a fair wind.

And well was it for the bald little old gentleman that he did so, for, a few days later, strange sounds and appearances were in the air and on the sea. Fine ashes filled the sky, so that noon became like midnight, and everything betokened that something unusually violent must have occurred in the land which they had left. Nothing more serious, however, befell our voyager. In due course he reached England, hastened home, and, without warning, burst in upon his wife while that dear little old lady was in the act of remarking to the middle-aged cat, in a very dolorous tone, that she feared something must have happened to the ship, for her darlings could never have been so long of writing if all had gone well.

It was while the cat gazed contemplatively at the everlasting socks, as if meditating a reply, that old Rigonda burst in.

Starting up with amazing activity and a cry of joy, the old lady swept her feline friend from the table—inadvertently, of course—and rushed into her husband's arms, while the outraged animal sought refuge on top of the bookcase, whence it glared at the happy meeting with feelings that may be more easily understood than described. Of course the old man's joy was turned into grief and anxiety when he heard of the departure of his children and was told of their prolonged silence; but with that we have nothing to do at present.

We return to Silver Bay, where a sense of insecurity had been aroused in the community, ever since the tremors of the earth, to which we have just referred.

With the slumbering of the Javanese mountains, however, these tremors and the consequent fears subsided, and were almost forgotten in another source of anxiety.

One morning, while Teddy Malone was walking on the beach of Silver Bay, he observed a small object running and stumbling towards him, as if in great haste or fear. Hurrying forward to meet this object he soon perceived that it was little Brown-eyes, of whom he was very fond.

"What's wrong, me darlint?" he asked, catching the child up and kissing her.

"Oh, such funny tings me sawd—oder side de rocks," replied Brown-eyes, panting; "come wid me an' see dem. Come kik!"

"Funny things, eh, mavourneen, what sort of things?"

"Oh, like beasts. Come kik!"

"They wasn't sarpints, was they?" said Malone, seating the child on his shoulder and hastening towards the rocky point which separated Silver Bay from the land beyond.

"No, no—not saa'pints. Long beasts, like mans, only hims not stand and walk, but lie down and crawl."

Much impressed with the child's eager manner, the Irishman hurried towards the point of rocks, filled with curiosity as to what the creatures could be.

"What sort o' hids have they, darlint?" he asked, as he neared the point.

"Hids same as mans, and faces like you, but more uglier, all scratched over, an' dey try to catch me, but me runned away."

Teddy Malone's hitherto obtuse faculties were awakened. He stopped suddenly, being by that time convinced that he stood unarmed within spear-throw of savages in ambush. To advance, supposing his conjecture to be right, he knew would be certain death. To turn and fly would probably be the same, for naked savages could easily overtake him even if unburdened with Brown-eyes, whom, of course, he could not forsake, and he was too far from the settlement to shout an alarm.

Perspiration burst from poor Teddy's brow, for even delay, he knew, would be fatal, as the savages would suspect him of having discovered them.

Suddenly he put Brown-eyes down on the sand, and, twisting his figure into a comical position, began to hop like a frog. His device had the desired effect; Brown-eyes burst into a hearty fit of laughter, forgot for the moment the "funny beasts," and cried, "Do it agin!"

The poor man did it again, thinking intensely all the time what he should do next.

"Would you like to see me dance, darlint?" he asked suddenly.

"Oh yis!"

Thereupon Teddy Malone began to dance an Irish jig to his own whistling, although, being much agitated, he found it no easy matter to whistle in tune or time, but that was unimportant. As he danced he took care to back in a homeward direction. The child naturally followed. Thus, by slow degrees, he got beyond what he considered spear-throw, and feeling boldness return with security, he caught the child up and danced with her on his shoulder. Then he set her down, and pretended to chase her. He even went the length of chasing her a little way in the wrong direction, in order to throw the savages more completely off their guard. By degrees he got near to the settlement, and there was met by Otto.

"You seem jolly to-day, Ted," said the boy.

"Whist, lad," returned the other, without intermitting his exercise. "Look as if ye was admirin' me. There's lot of them tattooed monkeys— savages—beyant the pint. They don't know I've found it out. Slink up an' gather the boys, an' look alive. I'll amuse 'em here till you come back. An' I say, don't forgit to bring me revolver an' cutlash."

"All right," was Otto's brief reply, as he sauntered slowly up towards the bushes. No sooner was he screened by these, however, than he ran like a hare to the palace.

"Halloo! Dom, Joe, Hugh—all of you—the savages again! Arm—quick!"

It needed no urging to hasten the movements of all who heard the boy's voice. Ever since the first appearance of the savages Dominick and the doctor had put all the men of the settlement under daily training in drill for an hour or so, that they might be better able to act promptly and in concert if occasion should again occur. The arms had been collected, and such of them as were not in use stored in a handy position, so that in two minutes an armed company was proceeding at a run towards the spot on the shore where Malone was still performing his antics, to the inexpressible delight of Brown-eyes.

"Where are the spalpeens?" asked the widow Lynch, who had followed the men.

"Beyant the rocks, mother," answered Malone, as he received his weapons from Otto and fell into his place in the ranks; "ye'd as well take the child home, or she'll be sure to follow—she's nigh as wild as yerself."

The widow was indeed fond of seeing, as she used to say, "all the fun that was goin'," but on this occasion she consented to carry Brown-eyes out of danger while the settlers moved at a quick step towards the point.

Behind that point of rocks a band of savages lay concealed, as Malone had rightly conjectured. There were about forty of them, all armed with clubs and spears, evidently bent on attacking the settlement. Of course they meant to do it by surprise, and had concealed themselves among the bushes behind the point, where they probably would have lain till nightfall if Brown-eyes in her wanderings had not discovered them. Their chief would have instantly caught and silenced the poor child, had she not run so far clear of the point that he would infallibly have revealed himself to Teddy Malone in doing so.

When that worthy drew near to the rocks, as described, the chief got ready a spear for his reception. When Malone took to dancing, the chief condescended to smile, or grin, hideously. When he retreated out of range the chief consoled himself with the reflection that it was just as well, night being the best time for attack. When, however, he beheld a band of men moving towards him armed with the terrible things that "spouted smoke, fire, and stones," a change came over the spirit of his dream. After a hasty consultation with his comrades, he glided off in the direction of their canoe. The rest followed, and when our settlers at last turned the point, they saw the foe paddling at full speed across the lagoon.

Firing a volley of disappointment after them, both in words and bullets, they ran to their boats and gave chase, but, as on the former occasion, the canoe proved too swift for the boats under oars, and the savages got away.

The anxiety that naturally filled the breasts of Queen Pauline and her councillors at this event was speedily forgotten in a recurrence of the earthquake which had previously alarmed them so much.

It happened on a calm, bright morning, when the widow Lynch chanced to be washing garments in the palace beside the queen. You see they had not much regard for state-ceremonial or etiquette at the court of Pauline the First even in public, much less in private, so that, while the widow was deep in the washtub at one end of the hall, the queen was busy at the other end patching Otto's garments.

At first there occurred a slight trembling of the earth, which the widow, attributing to giddiness in her own cranium, recognised with a remonstrative "Ohone!"

"Did you feel that?" exclaimed Pauline, pausing in her work and looking up with a slight feeling of alarm.

"What, dearie?" demanded the widow, clearing the soap-suds from her red roly-poly arms.

Before Pauline could answer, the earthquake took the liberty of reply by giving an abrupt shake to the whole island, which not only set chairs and tables rocking in an alarming manner, but drove the entire population from their houses in consternation. Among other effects it caused Mrs Lynch to stagger and catch hold of the washtub, which, far from supporting her, let her fall to the ground, and fell on the top of her.

To most of the settlers the sensation of a trembling earth was quite new and exceedingly alarming. They stopped abruptly after the first rush, and then looked about with pale faces, not knowing what to do. Malines, however, was cool and collected. He had been in various volcanic regions of the world, and undertook to comfort them.

"Don't be afraid," he said, when the most of the people had gathered round him. "I've often seen this sort o' thing, on the coast o' South America and among the Malay Islands. It passes away after a while, and often without doin' much damage—though I have seen a town shook almost to pieces in about five minutes."

"And what did they do?" asked Jabez Jenkins.

"Och, whirri-hoo!" shouted Teddy Malone, for at that moment another shock was felt, more violent than the preceding. The earth seemed absolutely to roll, and one or two of the huts that had been carelessly built, fell asunder in partial ruin.

"Where is my brother—and the doctor?" demanded Pauline, running up to the group at the moment.

"They're away up the mountain, with Joe and Otto," answered little Buxley; "I saw 'em start soon after daybreak—to explore, they said."

"What do you think should be done?" asked Pina, turning naturally to the mate, as being the most intelligent of those around her.

"If it's goin' to be bad," said Malines, "I would advise you all to git on board the ship as fast as ye can, for the land isn't so safe as the water when it takes to quakin'."

"You seem to have had some experience of it. Is it going to be bad, think you?"

"Earthquakes are deceptive—no man can tell."

"Well, then, we must do our best at once," said the queen, with an air of calm decision worthy of her rank. "Go, Mr Malines, with your sailors, and get all the boats ready. And you, my people, carry down what you esteem most valuable and get on board the ship without loss of time—for the rest, we are in the hands of a loving and merciful God."

While these events were enacting on the shore, Dominick, Otto, the doctor, and Joe Binney were seated near the summit of the highest peak, enjoying a cold breakfast. It was their first visit to that particular peak, which had a slight hollow or basin of perhaps fifty feet diameter in the centre.

Just before the first tremulous shock the doctor had been explaining to the prime minister the nature of volcanoes, and stating his opinion that the cup-like hollow before them was an extinct crater. The slight shock stopped him in his discourse, and caused the party to look at each other with serious faces.

"It's not extinct yet," exclaimed Otto excitedly, pointing to the hollow, the earth of which had suddenly cracked in several places and was emitting puffs of sulphurous smoke and steam.

They all started up.

"We'd better hasten home," said Dominick.

"Yes—they'll be terribly scared," said the doctor, hastily beginning to pack up the remains of their breakfast.

But, before this could be done, the second convulsion took place. Violent trembling occurred for a few seconds; then the ground in the old crater burst open, and, with a terrible explosion, fire and smoke belched forth, sending huge fragments of rock and showers of ashes into the air, which latter fell around the explorers in all directions— fortunately without doing them injury.

They waited no longer. Without even uttering a word they all turned and ran down the hill at full speed. Being a considerable distance from the settlement, it was upwards of an hour before they arrived. By that time most of the women and children had been sent off to the ship. Pauline, however, had remained on shore to direct and encourage the rest, as well as to await the return of her brothers.

"Right—right—you couldn't have done better," said Dominick, when Pauline hastily explained how she had acted.

"It was Mr Malines, not I, who suggested the plan," returned the queen.

"Hadn't you better go on board yourself?" said the doctor, "and leave us to manage."

"No, I am not a mere puppet, sir," answered Pauline, with a little smile, yet firmly. "My place is here till all my subjects are safe! And your duty is to assist in the embarkation, not to offer advice to your queen!"

With a laugh the doctor went off to do his duty, muttering, "My queen, indeed!" fervently.

For some time the volcano, which had thus sprung into sudden activity, partially subsided, yet there were occasional tremulous motions of the earth and low growlings in the heart of the mountain on Big Island, while several minor explosions occurred in the crater, so that the thoroughly alarmed settlers hastened the embarkation with all despatch. Before night had closed in they were all safely on board with most of their lighter valuables and tools, though, necessarily, much of their heavier property was left behind. Where life is threatened, however, men are not apt to mind such losses.

It now became a question whether they should remain at anchor where they were and abide the issue, or proceed at once to sea. Some were for remaining, others were for putting off to sea. There was much wrangling over it at first, and the people seemed in their anxiety to have quite forgotten their queen, when she stepped forward, and, raising her clear silvery voice, produced a dead calm at once.

"Joe," she said, "go down to the cabin and await me there."

The prime minister obeyed instantly.

"Now," said Pauline, turning to the people, "choose among you six of your number to consult with me, and do it at once."

Of course, the men well-known as the best among the settlers were instantly named we need scarcely add that among them were Dominick, the doctor, and Malines.

While these were engaged in consultation below, a terrible outburst of the volcano settled the matter for them, and brought them all hastily on deck.

The summit of the crater seemed to have been blown up into the air with a most terrific noise, while a dense mass of smoke, steam, and ashes was hurled upwards, and seemed to blot out the sky. Twilight, which had been deepening, was converted into blackest night in a moment, and darkness profound would undoubtedly have continued, had it not been for the lurid glare of the fires which flashed at intervals from the crater. Suddenly the waters of the sea became agitated. The ship rocked uneasily, and jerked at her cable, while the terrified people clung to shrouds and ropes, and belaying-pins. Then the fire on the mountain-top increased tenfold in volume and intensity. Another moment, and several large holes opened in the mountain-side nearest to them, from which streams of molten lava burst forth and began to descend towards the deserted settlement.

At that moment there was a great shout. It had been discovered that in the confusion little Brown-eyes had been forgotten!

A small boat hung at the davits on the port side. It was manned instantly. The doctor jumped to the helm, Otto followed, and, before any could interpose, the queen suddenly stepped in.

"You are mad!" cried the doctor.

"Lower away!" said Pina, as if she had been a trained sea-captain all her life.

Instantly the ropes were eased off, and in a few seconds the boat was in the sea and on the shore. They found little Brown-eyes sound asleep in her crib, with a river of red-hot lava stretching its fiery tongues towards her as if eager for a meal!

Supple-limbed Otto was first; he seized the child and bore her off to the boat. Another terrible explosion occurred just then. Ashes and masses of rock began to rain around them. A falling stone struck Pauline's head, and she fell. The doctor, who held her hand, seized her in his arms and bore her away. A few minutes more and they were all safe on board again.

But there was no time for congratulations. The sea which had before been agitated, now heaved in wild waves, though there was no wind. It was then seen that Big Island was actually crumbling—sinking into the water! The continuous rumbling of the volcano was terrible. Intermittent explosions were frequent. To add to the horrors of the scene the darkness deepened. As the island went down the sea rushed tumultuously in to overwhelm it. Then it was that the stout cable, under God, saved them from immediate destruction. The ship was hurled from side to side like a cork on the boiling flood. But no cable could long withstand such a strain. The chain snapped at last, and they seemed to be rushing with railway speed to their fate amid surrounding fire and overwhelming water, and roaring thunders, and raining ashes, when, suddenly, there was a perceptible diminution in the turmoil, and, gradually, the waves calmed down. With feelings of intense thankfulness the terrified people let go their second anchor, though the darkness was by that time so thick that they could barely see each other.

It may be imagined what a night of anxiety they spent. With Pauline and some others it was a night of earnest prayer.

When the light of day at last broke faintly in the east it revealed the fact that Refuge Islands had actually and totally disappeared, and that our settlers were floating on the bosom of the open sea!



CHAPTER TWELVE.

LAST CHAPTER.

An Island Queen no longer, Pauline Rigonda sits on the quarter-deck of the emigrant ship gazing pensively over the side at the sunlit sea. Dethroned by the irresistible influences of fire and water, our heroine has retired into the seclusion of private life.

After escaping from the volcano, as described in the last chapter, the settlers resolved to proceed, under the guidance of Malines as captain, and Morris as mate, to the port for which they had originally been bound when the disaster on Refuge Islands had arrested them.

Of course this was a great disappointment to poor Pauline and her brothers, who, as may be imagined, were burning with anxiety to get back to England. Feeling, however, that it would be unreasonable as well as selfish to expect the emigrants to give up their long-delayed plans merely to meet their wishes, they made up their minds to accept the situation with a good grace.

"You see," said Otto to the ex-queen—for he was becoming very wise in his own eyes, and somewhat oracular in the midst of all these excitements—"when a fellow can't help himself he's bound to make the best of a bad business."

"Don't you think it would be better to say he is bound to accept trustingly what God arranges, believing that it will be all for the best?" returned Pauline.

"How can a bad business be for the best?" demanded Otto, with the air of one who has put an unanswerable question.

His sister looked at him with an expression of perplexity. "Well, it is not easy to explain," she said, "yet I can believe that all is for the best."

"Ha, Pina!" returned the boy, with a little touch of pride, "it's all very well for you to say that, but you won't get men to believe things in that way."

"Otto," said Dr Marsh, who was standing near and listening to the conversation, "it is not so difficult as you think to prove that what we call a bad business may after all be for the best. I remember at this moment a case in point. Come—I'll tell you a story. Once upon a time I knew a gentleman with a stern face and a greedy soul, who believed in nothing, almost, except in the wickedness of mankind, and in his own capacity to take advantage of that wickedness in order to make money. Money was his god. He spent all his time and all his strength in making it, and he was successful. He had many ships on the sea, and much gold in the bank. He had also a charming little wife, who prayed in secret that God would deliver her husband from his false god, and he had a dear little daughter who loved him to distraction in spite of his 'business habits!' Well, one year there came a commercial crisis. Mr Getall eagerly risked his money and over-speculated. That same year was disastrous in the way of storms and wrecks. Among the wrecks were several of Mr Getall's finest ships. A fire reduced one of his warehouses to ashes, and, worse still, one of his most confidential and trusted clerks absconded with some thousands of pounds. All that was a very bad business, wasn't it?"

"It was," assented Otto; "go on."

"The upshot was a crash—"

"What!—of the burning warehouse?"

"No; of the whole business, and the Getalls were reduced to comparative beggary. The shock threw the poor little wife, who had always been rather delicate, into bad health, rendering a warm climate necessary for her at a time when they could not afford to travel. Moreover, little Eva's education was entirely stopped at perhaps the most important period of her life. That was a bad business, wasn't it?"

"That was a much worse business," asserted Otto.

"Well, when Mr Getall was at the lowest stage of despair, and had taken more than one look over the parapet of London Bridge with a view to suicide, he received a letter from a long-neglected brother, who had for many years dwelt on the Continent, partly for economy and partly for a son's health. The brother offered him a home in the south of France for the winter, as it would do his wife good, he said, and he had room in his house for them all, and wanted their company very much to keep him from being dull in that land of warmth and sunshine! Getall was not the man to refuse such an offer. He went. The brother was an earnest Christian. His influence at that critical time of sore distress was the means in the Holy Spirit's hands of rescuing the miser's soul, and transferring his heart from gold to the Saviour. A joy which he had never before dreamed of took possession of him, and he began, timidly at first to commend Jesus to others. Joy, they say, is curative. The effect of her husband's conversion did so much good to little Mrs Getall's spirit that her body began steadily to mend, and in time she was restored to better health than she had enjoyed in England. The brother-in-law, who was a retired schoolmaster, undertook the education of Eva, and, being a clever man as well as good, trained her probably much better than she would have been trained had she remained at home. At last they returned to England, and Mr Getall, with the assistance of friends, started afresh in business. He never again became a rich man in the worldly sense, but he became rich enough to pay off all his creditors to the last farthing; rich enough to have something to spare for a friend in distress; rich enough to lay past something for Eva's dower, and rich enough to contribute liberally to the funds of those whose business it is to 'consider the poor.' All that, you see, being the result of what you have admitted, my boy, was a bad business."

"True, but then," objected Otto, who was of an argumentative turn, "if all that hadn't resulted, it would have been a bad business still."

"Not necessarily—it might have turned out to be a good business in some other way, or for somebody else. The mere fact that we can't see how, is no argument against the theory that everything is constrained to work for good by Him who rules the universe."

"What! even sin?" asked Otto, in surprise.

"Even sin," returned the doctor. "Don't you see that it was Getall's sin of greed and over-speculation, and the clerk's sin of embezzlement, which led to all these good results; but, of course, as neither of them had any desire or intention to achieve the good results which God brought about, they were none the less guilty, and were entitled to no credit, but, on the contrary, to condign punishment. What I wish to prove is that God causes all things to work out His will, yet leaves the free-will of man untouched. This is a great mystery; at the same time it is a great fact, and therefore I contend that we have every reason to trust our loving Father, knowing that whatever happens to us will be for the best—not, perhaps, for our present pleasure or gratification, but for our ultimate best."

"But—but—but," said Otto, while premature wrinkles rippled for a minute over his smooth brow, "at that rate, is it fair to blame sinners when their very sins are made to bring about God's will?"

"Now, Otto, don't run away with a false idea. For you to sin with a view to bring about good, is one thing—and a very wicked thing, which is severely condemned in Scripture—but for God to cause good to result from your sin, and in spite of you, is a totally different thing. Think of a pirate, my boy, a bloody-handed villain, who has spent his life of crime in gathering together enormous wealth, with which to retire into selfish enjoyment at last. But he is captured. His wealth is taken from him, and with it good men establish almshouses for the aged poor, hospitals for the sick, free libraries and free baths everywhere, and many other good and beneficent works. The pirate's labours have, in God's providence, been turned into this channel. Is the pirate less guilty, or less deserving of punishment on that account?"

Further discussion on this point was interrupted by a sharp order from Malines to reduce sail, and the consequent bustling about of the sailors.

"Going to blow, think you?" asked Dominick, who came on deck at the moment.

"Can't tell yet," replied the mate, "but the glass has fallen suddenly, and one must be prepared, all the more that the ship has been more severely strained on the reef than I had thought. Would Miss Pauline be prepared," he added in a lower tone, "to receive the deputation this afternoon?"

"Yes, she is quite prepared," returned Dominick, in the same low tone, "though she is much perplexed, not being able to understand what can be wanted of her. Is it so profound a secret that I may not know it?"

"You shall both know it in good time," the mate replied, as he turned to give fresh directions to the man at the wheel.

That afternoon the assembly in the cabin could hardly be styled a deputation, for it consisted of as many of the emigrants as could squeeze in. It was led by Joe Binney, who stood to the front with a document in his hand. Pauline, with some trepidation and much surprise expressed on her pretty face, was seated on the captain's chair, with an extra cushion placed thereon to give it a more throne-like dignity. She was supported by Dominick on one side and Otto on the other.

Joe advanced a few paces, stooping his tall form, partly in reverence and partly to avoid the deck-beams. Clearing his throat, and with a slightly awkward air, he read from the document as follows:—

"Dear Miss Pauline, may it please yer majesty, for we all regards you yet as our lawful queen, I've bin appinted, as prime minister of our community—which ain't yet broke up—to express our wishes, likewise our sentiments."

"That's so—go it, Joe," broke in a soft whisper from Teddy Malone.

"We wishes, first of all," continued the premier, "to say as how we're very sorry that your majesty's kingdom has bin blowed up an' sunk to the bottom o' the sea," ("Worse luck!" from Mrs Lynch),—"but we congratulate you an' ourselves that we, the people, are all alive,"—("an' kickin'," softly, from Malone—"Hush!" "silence!" from several others),—"an' as loyal an' devoted as ever we was." ("More so," and "Hear, hear!"). "Since the time you, Queen Pauline, took up the reins of guvermint, it has bin plain to us all that you has done your best to rule in the fear o' God, in justice, truthfulness, an' lovin' kindness. An' we want to tell you, in partikler, that your readin's out of the Bible to us an' the child'n—which was no part o' your royal dooty, so to speak—has done us all a power o' good, an' there was some of us big uns as needed a lot o' good to be done us, as well as the child'n—" ("Sure an' that's true, annyhow!" from Teddy).

"Now, what we've got to say," continued Joe, clearing his throat again, and taking a long breath, "is this—the land we're agoin' to ain't thickly popilated, as we knows on, an' we would take it kindly if you'd consent to stop there with us, an' continue to be our queen, so as we may all stick together an' be rightly ruled on the lines o' lovin' kindness,"—("With a taste o' the broomstick now an' then," from Teddy). "If your majesty agrees to this, we promise you loyal submission an' sarvice. Moreover, we will be glad that your brother, Mister Dominick, should be prime minister, an' Mister Otto his scritairy, or wotever else you please. Also that Dr Marsh should be the chansler o' the checkers, or anything else you like, as well as sawbones-in-gineral to the community. An' this our petition," concluded Joe, humbly laying the document at Pauline's feet, "has bin signed by every man in the ship— except Teddy Malone—"

"That's a lie!" shouted the amazed Teddy.

"Who," continued Joe, regardless of the interruption, "not bein' able to write, has put his cross to it."

"Hear, hear!" cried the relieved Irishman, while the rest laughed loudly—but not long, for it was observed that Pauline had put her handkerchief to her eyes.

What the ex-queen said in reply, we need not put down in detail. Of course, she expressed her gratitude for kind expressions, and her thankfulness for what had been said about her Sabbath-school work. She also explained that her dear mother in England, as well as their old father in Java, must be filled with deepest anxiety on account of herself and her brothers by that time, and that, therefore, she was obliged, most unwillingly, to decline the honour proposed to her.

"Och!" exclaimed the disappointed widow Lynch, "cudn't ye sind for yer mother to come out to yez, an' the ould man in Javy too? They'd be heartily welcome, an' sure we'd find 'em some sitivation under guvermint to kape their pot bilin'."

But these strong inducements failed to change the ex-queen's mind.

Now, while this was going on in the cabin, a change was taking place in the sky. The bad weather which Malines had predicted came down both suddenly and severely, and did the ship so much damage as to render refitting absolutely necessary. There was no regular port within hundreds of miles of them, but Malines said he knew of one of the eastern isles where there was a safe harbour, good anchorage, and plenty of timber. It would not take long to get there, though, considering the damaged state of the ship, it might take some months before they could get her into a fit state to continue the voyage. Accordingly, they altered their course, with heavy hearts, for the emigrants were disappointed at having their voyage again interrupted, while the Rigondas were depressed at the thought of the prolonged anxiety of their parents.

"Now this is a bad business, isn't it?" said Otto to the doctor, with a groan, when the course was decided.

"Looks like it, my boy; but it isn't," replied the doctor, who nevertheless, being himself but a frail mortal, was so depressed that he did not feel inclined to say more.

In this gloomy state of matters Pina's sweet tones broke upon them like a voice from the better land—as in truth it was—saying, "I will trust and not be afraid."

About this time the cloud which hung over the emigrant ship was darkened still more by a visit from the Angel of Death. The mother of Brown-eyes died. At that time Pauline was indeed an angel of mercy to mother and child. After the remains of the mother were committed to the deep, the poor orphan clung so piteously to Pauline that it was scarcely possible to tear her away. It was agreed at last that, as the child had now no natural protector, except an uncle and aunt, who seemed to think they had already too many children of their own, Pauline should adopt her.

When the emigrants reached the island-harbour, without further mishap, they were surprised to find a large steamer at anchor. The captain of it soon explained that extensive damage to the machinery had compelled him to run in there for shelter while the necessary repairs were being effected.

"Where are you bound for?" asked Dominick, who with Dr Marsh and Otto had accompanied Malines on board the steamer.

"For England."

"For England?" almost shouted Dominick and Otto in the same breath.

"Yes. Our repairs are completed, we set off to-morrow."

"Have you room for two or three passengers?"

"Yes, plenty of room. We shall have to put several ashore at the Cape, where I hope to get a doctor, too, for our doctor died soon after we left port, and we are much in want of one, having a good many sick men on board."

"Otto," whispered Dr Marsh, "our having been diverted from our course has not turned out such a bad business after all, has it?"

"On the contrary, the very best that could have happened. I'll never give way to unbelief again!"

Poor Otto! He did not at that time know how deeply doubt and unbelief are ingrained in the human heart. He did not know that man has to be convinced again and again, and over again, before he learns to hope against hope, and to believe heartily at all times that, "He doeth all things well."

It was with very mingled feelings that the Rigondas, Dr Marsh, and Brown-eyes parted next day from the friends with whom they had associated so long. It is no exaggeration to say that there was scarcely a dry eye in the two vessels; for, while the settlers wept for sorrow, the crews and passengers wept more or less from sympathy. Even the dead-eyes of the ship, according to Malone, shed tears! As for poor Brown-eyes, who was a prime favourite with many of her old friends, male and female, before she got away she had been almost crushed out of existence by strong arms, and her eyes might have been pea-green or pink for anything you could tell, so lost were they in the swollen lids. Long after the vessels had separated the settlers continued to shout words of good-will and blessing, "We'll never forgit ye, Miss Pauline," came rolling after them in the strong tones of Joe Binney. "God bless you, Miss," came not less heartily from Hugh Morris. "We loves ye, darlint," followed clear and shrill from the vigorous throat of the widow Lynch, and a wild "Hooray!" from Teddy endorsed the sentiment. Nobbs, the blacksmith, and little Buxley, ran up the rigging to make the waving of their caps more conspicuous, and when faces could no longer be distinguished and voices no longer be heard, the waving of kerchiefs continued until the rounding of a cape suddenly shut them all out from view for ever.

"Thank God," said Dr Marsh, with a voice deepened and tremulous from emotion, "that though they have lost their queen, they shall never lose the sweet influences she has left behind her."

The great ocean steamer had now cleared the land; her mighty engines seemed to throb with joy at being permitted once more to, "Go ahead, full speed," and soon she was cleaving her way grandly through the broad-backed billows of the Southern sea—homeward bound!

Let us leap on in advance of her.

The little old lady with the gold spectacles and neat black cap, and smooth, braided hair, is seated in her old arm-chair, with the old sock, apparently—though it must have been the latest born of many hundreds of socks—on the needles, and the unfailing cat at her elbow. The aspect of the pair gives the impression that if a French Revolution or a Chili earthquake were to visit England they would click-and-gaze on with imperturbable serenity through it all.

But the little old lady is not alone now. Old Mr Rigonda sits at the table opposite to her, with his forehead in his hands, as though he sought to squeeze ideas into his head from a book which lies open before him on the table. Vain hope, for the book is upside down. Profound silence reigns, with the exception of the clicking needles and the purring cat.

"My dear," at length exclaimed the bald old gentleman, looking up with a weary sigh.

"Yes, John?" (Such is his romantic Christian name!)

"I can't stand it, Maggie." (Such is her ditto!)

"It is, indeed, hard to bear, John. If we only knew for certain that they are—are gone, it seems as if we could bow to His will; but this terrible and wearing uncertainty is awful. Did you make inquiry at Lloyd's to-day?"

"Lloyd's? You seem to think Lloyd's can tell everything about all that happens on the sea. No, it's of no use inquiring anywhere, or doing anything. We can only sit still and groan."

In pursuance of this remaining consolation, the poor old gentleman groaned heavily and squeezed his forehead tighter, and gazed at the reversed book more sternly, while the old lady heaved several deep sighs. Even the cat introduced a feeble mew, as of sympathy, into the midst of its purr—the hypocrite!

"It was the earthquake that did it," cried Mr Rigonda, starting up, and pacing the room wildly, "I'm convinced of that."

"How can that be, John, dear, when you were in Java at the time, and our darlings were far away upon the sea?"

"How can I tell how it could be, Maggie? Do you take me for a geological philosopher, who can give reasons for every earthly thing he asserts? All I know is that these abominable earthquakes go half through the world sometimes. Pity they don't go through the other half, split the world in two, and get rid of the subterranean fires altogether."

"John, my dear!"

"Well, Maggie, don't be hard on me for gettin' irascible now and then. If you only knew what I suffer when—but forgive me. You do know what I suffer—there!"

He stooped and kissed the old lady's forehead. The cat, uncertain, apparently, whether an assault was meant, arched its back and tall, and glared slightly. Seeing however that nothing more was done, it subsided.

Just then the wheels of a cab were heard rattling towards the front door, as if in haste. The vehicle stopped suddenly. Then there was impatient thundering at the knocker, and wild ringing of the bell.

"Fire!" gasped the half-petrified Mrs Rigonda.

"No smell!" said her half-paralysed spouse.

Loud voices in the passage; stumbling feet on the stairs; suppressed female shrieks; bass masculine exclamations; room door burst open; old couple, in alarm, on their feet; cat, in horror, on the top of the bookcase!

"Mother! mother! O father!"—yelled, rather than spoken.

Another moment, and the bald, little old man was wrestling in the ex-queen's arms; the little old lady was engulfed by Dominick and Otto; Dr John Marsh and Brown-eyes stood transfixed and smiling with idiotic joy at the door; while the cat—twice its size, with every hair erect— glared, and evolved miniature volcanoes in its stomach.

It was an impressive sight. Much too much so to dwell on!

Passing it over, let us look in on that happy home when toned down to a condition of reasonable felicity.

"It's a dream—all a wild, unbelievable dream!" sighed the old gentleman, as, with flushed face and dishevelled hair, he spread himself out in an easy chair, with Queen Pina on his knee and Brown-eyes at his feet. "Hush! all of you—wait a bit."

There was dead silence, and some surprise for a few seconds, while Mr Rigonda shut his eyes tight and remained perfectly still, during which brief lull the volcanic action in the cat ceased, and its fur slowly collapsed.

"Dreams shift and change so!" murmured the sceptical man, gradually opening his eyes again—"What! you're there yet, Pina?"

"Of course I am, darling daddy."

"Here, pinch me on the arm, Dominick—the tender part, else I'll not waken up sufficiently to dispel it."

A fresh outburst of hilarity, which started the stomachic volcanoes and hair afresh, while Pauline flung her arms round her father's neck for the fiftieth time, and smothered him. When he was released, and partially recovered, Otto demanded to know if he really wanted the dream dispelled.

"Certainly not, my boy, certainly not, if it's real; but it would be so dreadfully dismal to awake and find you all gone, that I'd prefer to dream it out, and turn to something else, if possible, before waking. I—I—"

Here the old gentleman suddenly seized his handkerchief, with a view to wipe his eyes, but, changing his mind, blew his nose instead.

Just then the door opened, and a small domestic entered with that eminently sociable meal, tea. With a final explosion, worthy of Hecla or Vesuvius, the cat shot through the doorway, as if from a catapult, and found refuge in the darkest recesses of the familiar coal-hole.

"But who," said Mr Rigonda, casting his eyes suddenly downward, "who is this charming little brown-eyed maid that you have brought with you from the isles of the southern seas? A native—a little Fiji princess—eh?"

"Hush! father," whispered Pauline in his ear, "she's a dear little orphan who has adopted me as her mother, and would not be persuaded to leave me. So, you see, I've brought her home."

"Quite right, quite right," returned the old man, stooping to kiss the little one. "I've often thought you'd be the better of a sister, Pina, so, perhaps, a daughter will do as well."

"Now, then, tea is ready; draw in your chairs, darlings," said Mrs Rigonda, with a quavering voice. The truth is that all the voices quavered that night, more or less, and it was a matter of uncertainty several times whether the quavering would culminate in laughter or in tears.

"Why do you so often call Pina a queen, dear boy?" asked Mrs Rigonda of her volatile son, Otto.

"Why?" replied the youth, whose excitement did not by any means injure his appetite—to judge from the manner in which he disposed of muffins and toast, sandwiched now and then with wedges of cake—"Why? because she is a queen—at least she was not long ago."

An incredulous smile playing on the good lady's little mouth, Pauline was obliged to corroborate Otto's statement.

"And what were you queen of?" asked her father, who was plainly under the impression that his children were jesting.

"Of Refuge Islands, daddy," said Pina; "pass the toast, Otto, I think I never was so hungry. Coming home obviously improves one's appetite."

"You forget the open boat, Pina."

"Ah, true," returned Pauline, "I did for a moment forget that. Yes, we were fearfully hungry that time."

Of course this led to further inquiry, and to Dominick clearing his throat at last, and saying—"Come, I'll give you a short outline of our adventures since we left home. It must only be a mere sketch, of course, because it would take days and weeks to give you all the details."

"Don't be prosy, Dom," said Otto, helping himself to a fifth, if not a tenth, muffin. "Prosiness is one of your weak points when left to your own promptings."

"But before you begin, Dom," said old Mr Rigonda, "tell us where Refuge Islands are."

"In the Southern Pacific, father."

"Yes," observed Otto; "at the bottom of the Southern Pacific."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the old gentleman, whose incredulity was fast taking the form of sarcasm. "Not far, I suppose, from that celebrated island which was the last home and refuge of our famous ancestor, the Spanish pirate, who was distantly related, through a first cousin of his mother, to Don Quixote."

"You doubt us, daddy, I see," said Pauline, laughing; "but I do assure you we are telling you the simple truth. I appeal to Dr Marsh."

Dr Marsh, who had chiefly acted the part of observant listener up to that moment, now assured Mr Rigonda with so much sincerity that what had been told him was true, that he felt bound to believe him.

"Yes, indeed," said Dr Marsh, "your daughter was in truth a queen, and I was one of her subjects. Indeed, I may say that, in one sense, she is a queen still, but she has been dethroned by fire and water, as you shall presently hear, though she still reigns in the affections of her people, and can never be dethroned again!"

This speech was greeted with some merriment, for the doctor said it with much enthusiasm. Then Dominick began to give an account of their adventures, interrupted and corrected, not infrequently, by his pert brother Otto, who, being still afflicted with his South-Sea-island appetite, remained unsatisfied until the last slice of toast, and the last muffin, and the last wedge of cake had disappeared from the table.

Dominick's intentions were undoubtedly good; and when he asserted that it was his purpose to give his father and mother merely an outline of their adventures, he was unquestionably sincere; but the outline became so extended, and assumed such a variety of complex convolutions, that there seemed to be no end to the story—as there certainly seemed to be no end to the patience of the listeners. So Dominick went, "on and on and on," as story-books put it, until the fire in the grate began to burn low; until Otto had consumed the contents of the teapot, and the cream-jug, and the sugar-basin, and had even gathered up, economically, the crumbs of the cake; until the still eager audience had begun to yawn considerately with shut mouths; until the household cat, lost in amazement at prolonged neglect, had ventured to creep from the coal-hole, and take up a modest position on the floor, in the shadow of its little old mistress.

There is no saying how long this state of things would have gone on, if it had not been for the exuberant spirits of Otto, who, under an impulse of maternal affection, sprang to his mother's side with intent to embrace her, and unwittingly planted his foot on the cat's tail.

Then, indeed, the convoluted outline came to an abrupt end; for, with a volcanic explosion, suggestive of thunder and lightning, inlaid with dynamite, the hapless creature sprang from the room, followed by a shriek from its mistress, and a roar of laughter from all the rest.

It is not certainly known where that cat spent the following fortnight. The only thing about it that remains on record is the fact that, at the end of that space of time, it returned to its old haunts, deeply humbled, and much reduced; that it gradually became accustomed to the new state of things, and even mounted the table, and sat blinking in its old position, and grew visibly fatter, while the old lady revived old times by stroking it, as she had been wont to, and communicating to it some of her thoughts and fancies.

"Ay, pussy," she said, on one of these occasions when they chanced to be alone together, "little did you and I think, when we used to be sitting so comfortably here, that our darlings were being tossed about and starved in open boats on the stormy sea! Ah! pussy, pussy, we little knew—but 'it's all well that ends well,' as a great writer that you know nothing about has said, and you and I can never, never be thankful enough for getting back, safe and sound, our dear old man, and our darling boys, and our—our little Pauline, the Island Queen."

THE END.