as he
looked, a mist seemed to rise before him, and suddenly out of the mist
he saw a strange picture--the cabin of a ship, a man bending over a
dispatch-box, and rapidly turning over the papers within. Then the door
of the cabin opened. An officer, with a bronzed, noble face swiftly
entered, and seized the spy at the dispatch-box. The spy threw himself
at the officer's feet and pleaded for mercy. Paul saw it all as clearly
as though it were on a screen before him. Looking at the spy's face, he
knew it for Zuker. Looking at the officer's face, he knew it for his
father's.

As the scene faded, he felt that he, too, must spring out on Zuker and
denounce him. "Spy--traitor! You're the man who tried to betray my
father! You are the man who would betray Britain!" By some impulse over
which he had no control he tried to shriek out the words. His lips
moved, but fortunately no sound came from them.

The next instant he was brought to his senses by the sound of
footsteps--footsteps in the tunnel by which he had entered. Instantly he
realized the position in which he stood. The new-comer, whoever he was,
was probably a confederate of the two spies inside, and would be bound
to pass into the cave through the curtain behind which he was hidden.
Quick as thought he retreated a pace or two, well out of the light of
the lamps, and drew himself close up to the wall.

Nearer and nearer came the footsteps. Presently Paul could just see the
shadowy outline of a man's figure. Then he passed him, coming so close
that his coat brushed against him. The figure paused. Paul held his
breath, and for one brief instant thought that he had been discovered.
The next, the curtain was lifted aside, and the new-comer passed inside
the cave.

"Ah, Weevil! What news?" came the voice of Zuker.

Weevil! Paul crept again to the curtain, and peered through the side. It
was the master, sure enough. He wore a cape, with the collar turned up
and buttoned tight round the chin.

"Still the same," answered the master.

"No change?"

"No change to speak of. Sometimes he's a little better; then he goes
back again, and is worse. Poor little chap! it makes my heart bleed to
see him."

Then Paul knew they were speaking of Hibbert.

"Your heart! What of mine?" exclaimed the man fiercely. "You always
speak as though you were the only one who cared for the boy. And a lot
of good you've done for him. It was through you I had him trained as an
English boy. H