and Alice were completely forgotten until they met us
clamorously in the hall.

"Did you get any, Pam?" cried Dick.

"Only five," was the answer, as I took the small paper parcel from my
pocket and handed it over.

"Is that all?" demanded Alice.

"There's one more," I said.

"Is that for me?" cried Alice; but Pamela shook her head and smiled very
nicely as she took my arm.

"No, that's for me," she said.

* * * * *

A TRAGEDY OF THE SEA.

The night was a very dark one, for a cold damp fog hung over the Channel.
The few lights we carried reflected in-board only, and, leaning over the
rail, it was with difficulty that I could distinguish the dark waters
washing below. Shore-ward I could see nothing, though I knew that a
good-sized town lay there.

I had soon had enough of the inclement night. Keeping my feet with some
difficulty upon the wet boards, I groped my way to a door and, pushing it
open, entered.

A strange scene met my gaze. A spruce man in the uniform of a naval officer
was seated at a table. Before him stood a tall well-set-up young seaman.
His dishevelled head was hatless, but otherwise he looked trim, and his
garments fitted him better than a seaman's garments generally do. On each
side of him stood an armed guard.

"Have you anything to say for yourself?" asked the officer sternly.

"No, Sir, only that I am innocent," answered the man. He held his head
high, almost defiantly. I could not but admire his courageous bearing, and
yet there was an air of unreality about the whole thing. I felt almost as
if I were dreaming it, but I knew that this was not a dream.

"The evidence against you is overwhelming," said the officer. "I have no
alternative but to sentence you to death. The sentence will be carried out
at dawn. Remove the prisoner."

The seaman took a step forward. For a moment he seemed to be struggling
with himself, anxious to speak, yet forcing himself to silence. Then he
bowed his head, and, turning, placed himself between the guards and was
marched away.

The officer sighed. "It's a bad business," he said. "He's the best man I
ever had on my ship."

He was speaking to himself, and again I had that strange sense of
unreality, as indeed I well might, for this was the Third Act of _True to
the Death_, a melodrama in the pavilion at the end of the pier.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE RETORT CELESTIAL.

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