er the figure on the floor, and placing
their hands on her bosom.

"Come away from here, L------," said Harry, one of our Rotumah boys, to
me; "if the Ponape men come off, they will kill us all."

We could do nothing, so we got back into the boat, and with the still
senseless body of Hickson lying at our feet, pulled out to the ship.

******

When he came to he was a madman, and for his own safety our captain
put him in irons. We put to sea next day, our skipper, like a wise man,
saying it would go hard with us if W------ died, and four Yankee whalers
in port.

The day after we got away Hickson was set at liberty, and went about his
duties as usual. At nightfall I went into his deck cabin. He was lying
in his bunk, in the dark, smoking. He put out his hand, and drew me
close up to him.

"Harry says she is dead?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Poor little Katia; I never meant to hurt her But I am glad she is
dead."

And he smoked his pipe in silence.

A BOATING PARTY OF TWO

I.

The prison gate opened, and Number 73 for a minute or so leaned against
the wall to steady himself. The strange clamour of the streets smote
upon his ear like dagger strokes into his heart, and his breath came in
quick, short gasps.

Some one was speaking to him--a little, pale-faced, red-whiskered man
with watery eyes--and Challoner, once "Number 73," staring stupidly
at him, tried to understand, but foiled. Then, sidling up to him, the
little man took one of Challoner's gaunt and long hands between his
own, and a stout, masculine female in a blue dress and poke bonnet and
spectacles clasped the other and called him "brother."

A dull gleam shone in his sullen eyes at last, and drawing his hands
away from them, he asked--

"Who are you?"

The stout woman's sharp tongue clattered, and Challoner listened
stolidly. Sometimes a word or two in the volley she fired would cause
him to shake his head wearily--"happiness in the life heternal," "washed
in the blood of the Lamb," and "cast yer sins away an' come an' be saved
without money an' without price."

Then he remembered who he was and who they were--the warders had told
him of the Prison Gate Brigade. He turned to the man and muttered--

"I want to get away from here," and stepped past them, but the woman
laid her fat, coarse hand on his sleeve.

"Come 'ome with us, brother. P'r'aps yer 'ave a mother or a wife waitin'
to 'ear from yer, an' we----"

He dashed her h