a pair of dividers, and set out that distance on the
chart. He held the instrument fixed on the point thus obtained.

Wylie eyed the point, and, after a moment's consideration, nodded his
head.

"There, or thereabouts," he said, in a low voice, and looking at the
merchant.

A pause ensued, and the two old men examined the speck pricked on the
map, as if it were the waters covering the _Proserpine._

"Now, sir," said Rolleston, "trace the course of the boats;" and he
handed Wylie a pencil.

The sailor slowly averted his head, but stretched out his hand and took
it, and traced two lines, the one short and straight, running nearly
northeast. "That's the way the cutter headed when we lost her in the
night."

The other line ran parallel to the first for half an inch, then, turning,
bent backward and ran due south.

"This was our course," said Wylie.

General Rolleston looked up, and said, "Why did you desert the cutter?"

The mate looked at old Wardlaw, and, after some hesitation, replied:
"After we lost sight of her the men with me declared that we could not
reach either Juan Fernandez or Valparaiso with our stock of provisions,
and insisted on standing for the sea-track of Australian liners between
the Horn and Sydney."

This explanation was received in dead silence. Wylie fidgeted, and his
eye wandered round the room.

General Rolleston applied his compasses to the chart. "I find that the
_Proserpine_ was not one thousand miles from Easter Island. Why did you
not make for that land?"

"We had no charts, sir," said Wylie to the merchant, "and I'm no
navigator."

"I see no land laid down hereaway, northeast of the spot where the ship
went down."

"No," replied Wylie, "that's what the men said when they made me 'bout
ship."

"Then why did you lead the way northeast at all?"

"I'm no navigator," answered the man sullenly.

He then suddenly stammered out: "Ask my men what we went through. Why,
sir" (to Wardlaw), "I can hardly believe that I am alive, and sit here
talking to you about this cursed business. And nobody offers me a drop of
anything."

Wardlaw poured him out a tumbler of wine. His brown hand trembled a
little, and he gulped the wine down like water.

General Rolleston gave Mr. Wardlaw a look, and Wylie was dismissed. He
slouched down the street all in a cold perspiration; but still clinging
to his three thousand pounds, though small was now his hope of ever
seeing it.

When he was gone