everishly glancing his eye at the western
margin of the sea, toward which the orb of day was slowly settling,
gilding all that side of the vault of heaven with the mellow lustre of
the hour and latitude.

"Not more than twenty, I fear, sir," was the reluctant answer.

"I should think five might suffice, at the worst; especially if the men
make a swift run." This was said in a half whisper, and thick husky
tones, the Captain looking anxiously at the lieutenant the while.

Winchester shrugged his shoulders, and turned away, unwilling to reply.

Cuffe now had a short consultation with the surgeon, the object of which
was to ascertain the minimum of time a man might live, suspended by the
neck at the yard-arm of a frigate. The result was not favorable; for a
sign followed to bring forth the prisoner.

Raoul came on deck, in charge of the master-at-arms and the officer who
had acted as provost-marshal. He was clad in his clean white lazzarone
garb, wearing the red Phrygian cap already mentioned. Though his face
was pale, no man could detect any tremor in the well-turned muscles that
his loose attire exposed to view. He raised his cap courteously to the
group of officers, and threw an understanding glance forward at the
fearful arrangement on the fore-yard. That he was shocked when the
grating and rope met his eye, is unquestionable; but, rallying in an
instant, he smiled, bowed to Cuffe, and moved toward the scene of his
contemplate execution, firmly, but without the smallest signs of bravado
in his manner.

A deathlike stillness prevailed, while the subordinates adjusted the
rope, and placed the condemned man on the grating. Then the slack of the
rope was drawn in by hand, and the men were ordered to lay hold of the
instrument of death, and to stretch it along the deck.

"Stand by, my lads, to make a swift run and a strong jerk, at your first
pull," said Winchester, in a low voice, as he passed down the line.
"Rapidity is mercy, at such a moment."

"Good God!" muttered Cuffe, "can the man die in this manner, without a
prayer; without even a glance toward heaven, as if asking for mercy?"

"He is an unbeliever, I hear, sir," returned Griffin, "We have offered
him all the religious consolation we could; but he seems to wish
for none."

"Hail the topgallant yards once more, Mr. Winchester," said Cuffe,
huskily.

"Foretopgallant yard, there!"

"Sir?"

"Any signs of the boat--look well into the bay of Naples--we a