145
XVIII. "WOULD HE EVER COME AGAIN?" 152
XIX. THE BATTLE OF CAMPERDOWN, 162
XX. NELSON AND THE NILE, 171
XXI. WILLIE DIED A HERO'S DEATH, 180
XXII. STILL WATERS RUN DEEP, 189
XXIII. "IT'S ALL UP, MR. RICHARDS, IT'S ALL UP!" 197
XXIV. BY THE OLD DIAL-STONE, 206

[Illustration]

_As We Sweep through the Deep._

CHAPTER I.

POOR JACK.

"As ye sweep through the deep
While the stormy winds do blow,
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow."
CAMPBELL.

"Just two years this very day since poor Jack Mackenzie sailed away from
England in the _Ocean Pride_."

Mr. Richards, of the tough old firm of Griffin, Keane, and Co.,
Solicitors, London, talked more to himself than to any one within
hearing.

As he spoke he straightened himself up from his desk in a weary kind of
way, and began to mend his pen: they used quills in those good old
times.

"Just two years! How the time flies! And we're not getting any younger.
Are we, partner?"

Whether Mr. Keane heard what he said or not, he certainly did not reply
immediately. He was standing by the window, gazing out into the
half-dark, fog-shaded street.

"Fog, fog, fog!" he grunted peevishly; "nothing but fog and gloom. Been
nothing else all winter; and now that spring has all but come, why it's
fog, fog, fog, just the same! Tired of it--sick of it!"

Then he turned sharply round, exclaiming, "What did you say about Jack
and about growing younger?"

Mr. Richards smiled a conciliatory smile. He was the junior partner
though the older man--if that is not a paradox--for his share in the
firm was not a quarter as large as Keane's, who was really Keane by name
and keen by nature, of small stature, with dark hair turning gray,
active, business-like, and a trifle suspicious.

Mr. Richards was delightfully different in every way--a round rosy face
that might have belonged to some old sea-captain, a bald and rosy
forehead, hair as white as drifted snow, and a pair of blue eyes that
always seemed brimming over with kindness and good-humour.

"I was talking more to my pen than to you," he said quietly.

"But what's given you Jack on the brain, eh?"

"Oh, nothing--nothing in particular, that is. I happened to turn to his
account, that is al