. Unfortunately something did occur to disturb
me--something sudden and violent.

A heavy hand was laid upon me, and I awoke.

I tried to gain my feet, but a desperate clutch was upon my throat. Mr.
Whippleton was bending over me; his right hand was choking me, while
his left grasped a rope. I tried to scream, but the hard hand choked
me. I realized that I was in the power of my enemy, and I made a
desperate struggle to free myself from his grasp. I thought I was
succeeding, when a crushing blow fell upon my head; my brain sparkled
as with a shower of stars. I remember no more of the affray.

The first sensation that I experienced was a deadly sickness and
faintness. My senses slowly came back to me, and I found myself lying
upon the cushions of the standing-room, with Marian Collingsby leaning
over me, bathing my brow. My head seemed to be bursting with pain and
fulness. I tried to raise my hand to ascertain the extent of my
injuries; but I found that my wrists were tied together behind me.

[Illustration: PHIL A PRISONER. Page 282.]

"O, Philip! Philip!" cried Marian, as I opened my eyes and realized my
situation.

I raised my head and looked around me. Peter was at the helm, and the
yacht was bounding along at a lively rate over the waves. On the
cushion opposite me lay Mr. Whippleton, enveloped in blankets, and
apparently asleep.

"How do you feel, Philip?" asked Marian, who was in as much distress as
I was.

"My head aches terribly," I replied, faintly; and a kind of deadly
sickness came over me again.

She bathed my head again with spirits, and the act revived me.

"This is terrible," said she, trembling with emotion.

"Don't be alarmed, Marian; I shall be better soon," I replied, trying
to change my position, for I was lying on one of my arms, and was very
uncomfortable.

"Won't you untie him, Peter?" said my fair attendant, appealing to the
black helmsman.

"Gorrificious! I'd like to do it first rate; but I dassent," he
answered, glancing at the form of Mr. Whippleton, who was snoring
heavily under the influence of the frequent drams he had taken.

"Then I will," she added, resolutely.

"Don't do it, miss. Mr. Whippleton is uncommon ugly."

"I don't care how ugly he is. I am not afraid of him now. Where is your
knife, Philip?"

"In my vest pocket," I replied, encouraged by a hope that the resolute
girl might set me free.

"Mustn't do it, miss. Skipper told me to look out for the young
ge