y
happy, but it is the happiness of a contented and healthy child. She
takes much pleasure in being with me, and sits by the hour with her hand
in mine, while I talk of the England that we have left and of the scenes
of other days. But nothing awakens the dormant memory. Uncle John has
got back to his studies, and talks explosives to any one who will
listen.

May 17.--Here we lie, still becalmed. It is horrible! What will come of
it all? The sailors are ready to take to the boats and quit the ship,
and it requires all of Captain Raymond's firmness and kindness, for he
is a kind captain, and all of Mate Robinson's sternness, to deal with
the crew. The steward tells me in great confidence that the men say that
the _Albatross_ is bewitched, and that Helen is the witch that has done
it. I can see that they follow her with black looks, in which is
something of fear, as she walks the deck, singing softly to herself and
happy as a bird--the only happy soul aboard. Why should she not be
happy? She has no past, looks forward to no future. She lives in the
present, Nature's own child. The ocean that gave her to us seems to have
claimed her as its own. She loves the sea in all its moods. When the
storm was at its fiercest and the huge waves swept over us, she insisted
on being on deck, and clapped her hands and laughed in glee, as
thoughtless of danger as one of Mother Cary's chickens. Now, when this
horrible calm is drawing the very life out of us all, she sings and
laughs and is merry; or, when not merry, wears a calm, passionless,
almost soulless face. I don't wonder that the men think that she is a
witch. She has bewitched me more than once.

IV.

May 2l.--I am sitting alone in the cabin writing. It is very late. I
hear the steps of the mate as he paces the deck. The calm still holds us
in its fearful clasp. Great God! What is to be the end of it all? There
has been a break in the monotony of our existence to-day. Uncle John got
into a hot discussion with Captain Raymond at the dinner table about the
efficacy of the wonderful explosive compound. The captain seemed
doubtful. Uncle John was for the instant angry.

"I'll show you, then," he said, and he rushed into the cabin where his
boxes are stored, and came out shortly with two tin cans, each holding
something less than a pint. He unscrewed the top of one disclosing a
brownish powder. "Take care," said the captain, who seemed needlessly
cautious, and almost fearf