were in the
boat. What would they not have given for that pocket-handkerchief now!

"Yes," said Mr. Meeson, "it seems we have none. I haven't even get a
bank-note, or I might have written in blood upon that; though I have got
a hundred sovereigns in gold--I grabbed them up before I bolted from the
cabin. But I say--excuse me, Miss Smithers, but--um--ah--oh! hang
modesty--haven't you got some linen on, somewhere or other, that you
could spare a bit of? You shan't lose by giving it to me. There, I
promise that I will tear up the agreement if ever I get out of
this--which I shan't--which I shan't--and I will write on the linen that
it is to be torn up. Yes, and that you are to have five thousand pounds
legacy too, Miss Smithers. Surely you can spare me a little bit--just off
the skirt, or somewhere, you know, Miss Smithers? It never will be
missed, and it is so _very_ important."

Augusta blushed, and no wonder. "I am sorry to say I have nothing of the
sort about me, Mr. Meeson--nothing except flannel," she said. "I got up
in the middle of the night before the collision, and there was no light
in the cabin, and I put on whatever came first, meaning to come back and
dress afterwards when it got light."

"Stays!" said Mr. Meeson, desperately. "Forgive me for mentioning them,
but surely you put on your stays? One could write on them, you know."

"I am very sorry, Mr. Meeson," she answered, "but I did not put any on."

"Not a cuff or a collar?" he said, catching at a last straw of hope.

Augusta shook her head sadly.

"Then there is an end of it!" groaned Mr. Meeson. "Eustace must lose the
money. Poor lad! poor lad! I have behaved very badly to him."

Augusta stood still, racking her brain for some expedient, for she was
determined that Eustace Meeson should not lose the chance of that
colossal fortune if she could help it. It was but a poor chance at the
best, for Mr. Meeson might not be dying, after all. And if he did die, it
was probable that his fate would be their fate also, and no record would
remain of them or of Mr. Meeson's testamentary wishes. As things looked
at present, there was every prospect of their all perishing miserably on
that desolate shore.

Just then the sailor Bill, who had been up to the flagstaff on the rock
on the chance of catching sight of some passing vessel, came walking
past. His flannel shirt-sleeves were rolled up to the elbows of his
brawny arms, and as he stopped to speak to August