his own affairs with a very candid curiosity about yours.

It was chiefly of his own that he talked this afternoon. The family were going back to London in a few days, and Stayson needed to put only a few questions here and there to confirm his conjecture as to the reason.

"Mummy says we must go back, but me and daddy and the others doesn't seem to want to."

Well, I'm going away tomorrow too, old chap. Will you come and see me offabout high tide-ten o'clock ! " The boy eagerly assented, and Stayson took him home, calling on the way back at the bank, where he had had his account transferred, and making arrangements with the manager for the withdrawal of nearly all of his not inconsiderable balance.

Next morning he was up early, and everything was ready for sailing. After his breakfast he rowed ashore and settled up with Jackson, and stood talking to him until the boy arrived.

"Well-good-bye, old fellow, and mind you grow up a good sailor."

He shook his chubby little hand, and gave him an envelope to give to his father. It was one of the last knots he had to cut, the severance from things worldly, the parting from his worldly goods.

It seemed a little thing to Stayson, a sort of good-humoured whim, but he knew it would be seen as the helping

hand of God by that little family. In some measure it seemed to atone for a selfish life-and make him a participator in the struggle of creation. At any rate he had his reward, and the mental picture of that little figure waving to him from the sea-wall was with him to the end.

Jackson rowed him out to the Sarcophagus, and then left him, for he had determined to take no dinghy with him.

The anchor was soon up, the sails set, and he was away, a fair north-east wind carrying him down the beloved estuary. An agitated piece of white in the distance told him the boy was still waving to him; but when at length that was lost to sight, being a man of fibre, he resolved on not looking back. There should be no regrets; he would only look forward to where the mystic horizon lured him on.

The whole country was under the benign influence of an anticyclone, and the northeast wind held all the sunny day. That night he hove-to within sight of Dover, the tide drifting him down Channel. He sat contentedly in the cockpit, smoking and watching the French and English lights. It had been a glorious start to the last great adventure. It could only have one end, but much might lie between now and then. He felt the touch of Drake and Raleigh and all the old sea captains, and fell asleep that night reading the Voyages of Columbus.'

For seven days he coasted

On the eighth day out he took his departure from the Lizard, and headed south-west. "Next stop South America," he said aloud; and the little boat, with her boom right out, rose gamely to the long smooth Atlantic swell.

For several days he sailed on peacefully and without incident. Sometimes he would sight a steamer and once a few trawlers, but otherwise he seemed to be alone in the centre of a quietly heaving and gigantic circle, whose circumference was the clear-cut horizon. He would heave-to at night under a mizzen and foresail, and cook delightful little meals, and read and sleep. Books and Bacchus made a splendid combination, and gave him fellowship and content, while the gentle motion and the sound of tumbling waters lulled him into slumber.

Thus for some time he was content in a lazy sort of happiness, and would dream in that detached way only possible to one halting, as it were, between life and death. Much was clear to him then which had been hidden, and in an almost superhuman way he saw men and matters in truer perspective. One night, before turning in, he noticed the barometer was falling, so he was not surprised when he was woken up at dawn to hear the sails flapping wildly on deck, and the boat pitching and rolling, and sending all

He took in all sail and put out his sea-anchor, and the Sarcophagus rose like a seabird to the long swell with its foamy wind-driven top. It was a glorious motion; upup-up the long dark-green hill, which seemed to tower above him; then for a few moments in a boiling snowwhite pinnacle, with spray flying all around; then down, down into the dark valley, as the huge wave swung onward to break many a mile away,

one after another in endless succession-merciless, irresistible, yet majestic.

Stayson sat in the cockpit, fascinated by the primeval fierceness and beauty of it all. He wondered he was not afraid-he knew he would have been very afraid in ordinary circumstances. Instead of that, he was surprised to find himself enjoying it-exhilarated as he had never been before. The cruel grandeur of the scene seemed to strike some answering chord in his manhood. He laughed aloud, and the wind, shrieking through the rigging, seemed to laugh with him. He felt absolutely incapable of feeling any fear, and mused on the subject.

Perhaps the instinct of self

preservation had left him now, as it was no longer needed to protect a valueless life. That would be just like Nature to take away an instinct, when its utility had gone. Yes, that would account for some reckless acts of bravery he remembered, and many suicides, and in some degree justify them. At all events it was very, very merciful. Was it just incidental, or could it be an ordinance of a divine mind? Or it might be for a purpose that Nature used up such as he, the moribund, for her desperate enterprises thereby saving the fit. How he wished that this voyage of his undertaken entirely for personal reasons-could have some object of sacrifice.

The wind, increasing all day, blew half a gale that night, and although the movement of the little boat was terrific and made sleep quite impossible, still she kept fairly dry.

Once or twice Stayson had to pump, for even spray accumulates, and the exertion brought on the coughing. In spite of this he was wonderfully content, and sitting wrapped in his oil-skins huddled up in the cockpit, gazed almost lovingly at the long ravening waves as, one after another, they tore past him out of the darkness.

For three days and nights he remained hove-to like this, and the lack of sleep and exertion of pumping were making him very weak. All the time he was drifting before the wind, and going back to the English

shore. Then, on the fourth morning, although the wind and sea were still high, the sun suddenly broke through. Stayson, who had been wondering if he was ever going to see it again, felt very glad. It seemed symbolic-it gave hope that there still might be something ahead. He stood up in the cockpit, steadying himself against the cabin roof, and looked round on the wild rugged seascape.

Then an object caught his eye. About half a mile away he caught a momentary glimpse of something black. He crawled into the cabin and got his glasses, and after a while he saw it twice again. It looked like a boat.

It was still very rough and risky for sailing, but he determined to chance it.

He double-reefed the mizzen, and put a storm-jib on. Then he went forrard and got the sea-anchor in. It seemed to take ages, and brought on some coughing. He hurried back to the tiller, and got there just in time to prevent the boat getting broadside on. He had taken a rough compassbearing of the black object, and edged his way towards it. The Sarcophagus made heavy weather of it, and shipped a good deal of water, but Stayson had luckily shut the cabin doors. With his left hand he started bailing out the water in an old tin, while his right grasped the tiller and took the waves as much on the bow as possible. It had been touch and go for a few minutes, but gradually the danger passed.

Then he saw the object again. Undoubtedly it was a boat. He wondered if there was any one in it. An intense longing to speak to some one came over him.

At length he ran up alongside the boat, and the two banged and crushed together. Stayson saw two jersey clad figures lying huddled up together in the bottom of the boat. He shouted, but they did not stir. He saw they were lads fishing lads-for on the stem of the boat was carved "S. T. Rose."

He caught the boat's painter, which was tied to some floating planks of wood and oarsa rough sea-anchor. He cut it with his knife and made it fast, and the trawler's boat swung astern of the Sarcophagus. Then, with a mendous effort to be quick, he got his sails down-and put his sea-anchor out. Both sails were half in the water, and the ropes were lashing about with fury-but that didn't matter just yet.

cabin. He got back to the boat, and forced some of the spirit between the boys' lips. Some of it was swallowed, but most of it went to join the water which was washing backwards and forwards in the bottom of the boat.

At last one of the lads regained a partial consciousness, and Stayson, by encouragement, entreaty, and force, managed to get him into the Sarcophagus's cockpit. It took him about an hour, and he had three coughing fits, but it was done at last.

Then he drank half a bottle of spirits himself, and went back for the other. He was absolutely inert, and Stayson was unable to lift him. Once, in trying, he was thrown over the side of the boat into the sea by the tremendous pitching. Luckily he caught the gunwale, and dragged himself in again.

For a few moments he was absolutely thwarted; then he got an inspiration. He unhooked the mainsail peak halyard, and, putting the hook under the boy's belt, hauled on the rope. The lad came up bent double, and, swinging with the movement of the boat, was dumped on deck. Eventually he had them lying side by side on the cabin floor; there was too much movement for them to stay in the bunks. Stayson

himself, and prayed aloud for strength. He rested and coughed awhile, then ripped

them spoke, something indistinct, and Stayson felt supremely happy. He got the primus-stove going, and made some hot grog. They both drank some of it, drowsily and only half-conscious. Then Stayson went out on deck to get things straight before nightfall, and before his whiskygiven strength gave out.

He cut the trawler's boat loose it was no use now,tied up the shreds of sails that remained, and then collapsed in the cockpit. Some time afterwards an icy dash of spray brought him to, and he went down into the cabin. Both lads ate what he gave them-biscuit, tinned salmon, and marmalade, the first things that came out of the locker.

Stayson asked asked them how they came to be alone in the boat; and bit by bit, and with prompting, he got their story.

They had been in the wheelhouse of the trawler Rose, while the rest of the crew were having their breakfast. That was three days ago. It was a pretty rough sea, and they had not got their gear down. They were just lying broadside on, as trawlers always will, unless the sea is very bad, when they had to go ahead into it and burn coal. Suddenly a big wave swept right over her stern. Some of it must have gone down into the cabin, and they thought some water must have got into the big carbide tin, which was kept at the foot of the companion. Anyway, the first thing

they knew was a shoot of flame coming out of the galley door. They heard cries, but could not do anything. The cries stopped very soon-and the whole of the after end of the trawler became a blaze of flame. When she was sinking they launched the boat and got into it. The words came out drowsily, and it seemed as though they were talking in their sleep.

Stayson listened to them with his head close down to their faces, for the noise outside was appalling.

"If anything happens to me in the night," he shouted, " steer north-east-north-east.'

One boy nodded slowly, then turned over and slept.

As night came on Stayson watched over them with an almost motherly solicitude. They slept deeply, and Stayson, worn out, wet through and utterly tired, himself fell into a fitful slumber, sitting propped up half in the cabin and half in the cockpit.

The

Towards dawn he awoke to find that, although the sea and wind had gone down considerably, he was sitting in several inches of water. boat must be making water. That banging about alongside the trawler's boat must have started a leak. Slowly, and with infinite pain, he dragged himself to the pump. He pumped for an hour that seemed like a century. Every nerve and muscle and sinew seemed to shriek aloud for mercy, but the inexorable mind held on. He grew light-headed, and once he saw a woman helping him