ry soon he observed dreamily:

"I was with Captain and Mrs Anthony sailing all over the world for near
on six years. Almost as long as Franklin."

"Oh yes! What about Franklin?" I asked.

Powell smiled. "He left the _Ferndale_ a year or so afterwards, and I
took his place. Captain Anthony recommended him for a command. You
don't think Captain Anthony would chuck a man aside like an old glove.
But of course Mrs Anthony did not like him very much. I don't think
she ever let out a whisper against him but Captain Anthony could read
her thoughts."

And again Powell seemed to lose himself in the past. I asked, for
suddenly the vision of the Fynes passed through my mind.

"Any children?"

Powell gave a start. "No! No! Never had any children," and again
subsided, puffing at his short briar pipe.

"Where are they now?" I inquired next as if anxious to ascertain that
all Fyne's fears had been misplaced and vain as our fears often are;
that there were no undesirable cousins for his dear girls, no danger of
intrusion on their spotless home. Powell looked round at me slowly, his
pipe smouldering in his hand.

"Don't you know?" he uttered in a deep voice.

"Know what?"

"That the _Ferndale_ was lost this four years or more. Sunk.
Collision. And Captain Anthony went down with her."

"You don't say so!" I cried quite affected as if I had known Captain
Anthony personally. "Was--was Mrs Anthony lost too?"

"You might as well ask if I was lost," Mr Powell rejoined so testily as
to surprise me. "You see me here,--don't you."

He was quite huffy, but noticing my wondering stare he smoothed his
ruffled plumes. And in a musing tone.

"Yes. Good men go out as if there was no use for them in the world. It
seems as if there were things that, as the Turks say, are written. Or
else fate has a try and sometimes misses its mark. You remember that
close shave we had of being run down at night, I told you of, my first
voyage with them. This go it was just at dawn. A flat calm and a fog
thick enough to slice with a knife. Only there were no explosives on
board. I was on deck and I remember the cursed, murderous thing looming
up alongside and Captain Anthony (we were both on deck) calling out,
`Good God! What's this! Shout for all hands, Powell, to save
themselves. There's no dynamite on board now. I am going to get the
wife!...' I yelled, all the watch on deck yelled. Crash!"

Mr Powell gasped at the