rom his cabin on to the main-deck, his head bare, and his sandy
hair flying out wildly into the breeze. His eyes were strained and
bloodshot, and his whole appearance was that of a person in an agony of
terror. Aroused from his drunken sleep by the noise overhead, and
terrified to find the vessel heeling over to the other side, he
imagined, in his drunken bewilderment, that the ship had struck, and
that himself and his gold were in danger of perishing with her. Filled
with frenzy at this idea, he rushed out upon deck, where the general
apparent confusion confirmed his fears; then he sprung upon the
bulwarks, gazed around him in utter dismay at the crew in busy motion
about him, tottered on his insecure standing-ground, caught at a rope to
save himself; missed it, and then, with a terrible shriek of horror and
despair, fell headlong overboard into the boiling waters.

"Save him! oh, save him!" cried Frank Oldfield imploringly. "Where is
he? Let me go, let me go," he screamed, for he was about to plunge
overboard, and the captain was holding him back with his powerful grasp.

"It's no use, Mr Oldfield; it'll only be two lives instead of one."

"Oh, yes, yes," besought Frank; "put the ship about--lie-to--throw over
a hen-coop, a life-buoy, for mercy's sake--the poor wretch isn't fit to
die," and he still struggled to free himself.

"Listen to reason, sir," said the captain. "We can do nothing; the
ship's running nine knots, and no one knows where to look for him;
nothing can save him, miserable man; he's sunk no doubt, at once, and
all the faster for having his gold about him."

"Can nothing be done?" cried Frank, beseechingly.

"Nothing, I assure you," replied the other; "there's not a trace of him
to be seen, is there, Mr Walters?" The first mate shook his head.
"We're far enough off now from the spot where he fell in. It's in mercy
to you, sir, that he's been taken away."

Frank sank upon a seat, and buried his face in his hands, sobbing
bitterly.

Yes; the tempter was gone, gone to his account--suddenly cut off in the
midst of his sins, hurried away in righteous retribution by the very
death himself had planned for Jacob Poole. Yes; the tempter was gone,
and the tempted still remained. Would he take home to his heart the
lesson and warning God had thus sent him? The tempter was gone, but,
alas! the temptation was not gone. Frank had even now in his cabin
several flasks of that drink which had alread