time to become acquainted with each other's
names, he added. He was sure it was the young man; of very light
complexion, ready and rather loose (if Mr. Gum would excuse his saying
so) in speech. He had made thoroughly good hauls of gold at the last, and
was going home to spend it. He was the second killed, poor fellow; had
risen up with a volley of oaths (excuses begged again) to defend the
captain, and was struck down and killed.

Poor Jabez Gum gasped. _Killed?_ was the gentleman _sure_? Quite sure;
and, moreover, he saw his body thrown overboard with the rest of the
dead. And the money--the gold? Jabez asked, when he had somewhat
recovered himself. The passenger laughed--not at the poor father, but at
the worse than useless question; gold and everything else on board the
_Morning Star_ had gone down with her to the bottom of the sea.

A species of savage impulse rose in the clerk's mind, replacing his first
emotion of grief; an impulse that might almost have led him to murder the
villain Gordon, could he have come across him. Was there a chance that
the man would be taken? he asked. Every chance, if he dared show his face
in England, the passenger answered. A reward of seven hundred pounds was
an inducement to the survivors to keep their eyes open; and they'd do it,
besides, without any reward. Moreover--if Gordon had escaped, his
comrades in the boat had escaped with him. They were lawless men like
himself, every one of them, and they would be sure to betray him when
they found what a price was set upon his capture.

Clerk Gum returned home, bearing to his wife and Calne the final tidings
which crushed out all hope. Mrs. Gum sank into a state of wild despair.
At first it almost seemed to threaten loss of reason. Her son had been
her sole idol, and the idol was shattered. But to witness unreasonably
violent grief in others always has a counteracting effect on our own,
and Mr. Gum soothed his sorrow and brought philosophy to his aid.

"Look you," said he, one day, sharply to his wife, when she was crying
and moaning, "there's two sides to every calamity,--a bright and a dark
'un;" for Mr. Gum was not in the habit of treating his wife, in the
privacy of their domestic circle, to the quality-speech kept for the
world. "He is gone, and we can't help it; we'd have welcomed him home if
we could, and killed the fatted calf, but it was God's will that it
shouldn't be. There may be a blessing in it, after all. Who knows but