d him not to say anything further, but
Marston, whose eyes were now lightened by that ephemeral light so often
seen in the eyes of the dying, went on--

"I commend my wife to your care... and Villari--is he dead?"

"No, Harry," whispered Mrs. Marston, "he is not dead, but badly
wounded."

"Poor Villari... a born sailorman, though an Italian.... Mr. Raymond,
Amy... Let him command.... I should have taken his advice... And give
him five hundred pounds, Amy.... You, Mr. Raymond, will be entitled to a
third of the value of the ship and her cargo... You understand?"

"I will not take a penny," said Raymond, as he rose. "Now I must be
going. But have no fear for the _Esmeralda_. She will be at anchor in
this bay to-morrow morning."

Marston put his hand gently over towards him, and pressing it softly,
Raymond withdrew.

His wife met him at the door. Her dark, Spanishlike face showed traces
of tears, but she smiled bravely as he put his arms around her and
kissed her.

"Tom, dear, you must not be angry. I have not been crying for fear that
something may happen to you if there is a fight with those dreadful men
on board the ship--for I am _sure_ that you will come back to me and our
little one safe and sound--but I do so pity poor Mrs. Marston, Tom, if
Captain Marston dies."

"I think that there is no possible hope of his recovery, dear."

"Then she must stay with us, Tom, for some time, until she is stronger.
She will need to have a woman's care soon."

Raymond kissed his wife again. "As you will, Marie; you always think of
others. And I shall be very glad if she will stay with us."

Ten minutes later she walked down to the beach, and watched her husband
and Malie with his followers depart, and then she slowly returned home
along a winding path bordered by shaddock trees, whose slender branches
were weighted down with the great golden-hued fruit. As she reached the
verandah steps a pretty little girl of four years of age ran up to her,
and held out her arms to be taken up.

"Where has father gone, Muzzie?" she said in English, and then rapidly
added in Samoan, "_Ua alu ia i moana?_" ("Has he gone upon the sea?")

"Yes, Loise. He has gone upon the sea, but will soon return. Where is
Malu?"

"Here, lady," replied a woman's voice in the soft Samoan tongue, and a
pleasant-faced, grey-haired woman of fifty came down the steps, and took
the child from her mother's arms, and as she did so, whispered, "The
tide hath