ee?" he asked in a whisper.

They had seen nothing that he had seen. Then it was all an illusion? a
fragment of his drunken dreams? But no drunken dream was ever like that.

"Yes, I'll play," he said, trying to collect himself thinking that he
would forget the illusion, and remembering he had his watch to win back.

But his heart failed him. His brain, his hand failed him also.
Absolutely, he could not play.

"Boys, I'm not very well. Excuse me--I can't play to-night."

And hesitatingly, like a person who has been stunned, he got up, and left
the place. Few felt inclined to jeer him. John Winch begun to say
something about "the parson going to pray," but it was frowned down.

Frank went on deck. The evening was mild, the wind was south, the sky was
clear and starry; it was like a May night in New England. The schooner
was riding at anchor in the sound; other vessels of the fleet lay around
her, rocking gently on the tide--dim hulls, with glowing, fiery eyes; and
here there was a band playing, and from afar off came the sound of solemn
singing, wafted on the wind. And the water was all a weltering waste of
waves and molten stars.

But little of all this Frank saw, or heard, or heeded. His soul was rapt
from him; he was lost in wonder and grief.

"Can you tell me any thing?" said a voice at his side.

"O, Atwater," said Frank, clutching his hand, "what does it mean? As I
was playing, I saw--I saw--every thing else disappeared; cards, counters,
the bench we were playing on, and there before me, as plainly as I ever
saw any thing in my life----"

"What was it?" asked Atwater, as Frank paused, unable to proceed.

"My sister Hattie." then said Frank, in a whisper of awe, "in her coffin!
in her shroud! But she did not seem dead at all. She was white as the
purest snow; and she smiled up at me--such a sweet, sad smile--O! O!"

And Frank wrung his hands.

XVIII.

BITTER THINGS.

Atwater could not have said much to comfort him, even if he had had the
opportunity. Some young fellows who had heard of Frank's losses at bluff,
and of his intoxication, saw him on deck, and came crowding around to
have some jokes with him. Atwater retired. And Frank, who had little
relish for jokes just then, went below, and got into his berth, where he
could be quiet, and think a little.

But thinking alone there with his conscience was torture to him. He
turned on h