wed plainly their dreadful desires. Brooke,
Darvall, and the mate showed as clearly by their compressed lips and
stern brows that they would resist any attempt to gratify these.

Suddenly the mate's brow cleared, and his eyes opened wide as he
muttered, under his breath, "A sail!"

"A sail! a sail!" shrieked the man in the bow at the same moment, as he
leaped up and tried to cheer, but he only gasped and fell back in a
swoon into a comrade's arms.

It was indeed a sail, which soon grew larger, and ere long a ship was
descried bearing straight towards them before a very light breeze. In
less than an hour the castaways stood upon her deck--saved.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

INGRATITUDE.

A year or more passed away, and then there came a cablegram from New
York to Jacob Crossley, Esquire, from Captain Stride. The old gentleman
was at breakfast when he received it, and his housekeeper, Mrs Bland,
was in the act of setting before him a dish of buttered toast when he
opened the envelope. At the first glance he started up, overturned his
cup of coffee, without paying the least attention to the fact, and
exclaimed with emphasis--"As I expected. It is lost!"

"'Ow could you expect it, sir, to be anythink else, w'en you've sent it
all over the table-cloth?" said Mrs Bland, in some surprise.

"It is not that, Mrs Bland," said Mr Crossley, in a hurried manner;
"it is my ship the _Walrus_. Of course I knew long ago that it must
have been lost," continued the old gentleman, speaking his thoughts more
to himself than to the housekeeper, who was carefully spooning up the
spilt coffee, "but the best of it is that the Captain has escaped."

"Well, I'm sure, sir," said Mrs Bland, condescending to be interested,
and to ignore, if not to forget, the coffee, "I'm very glad to 'ear it,
sir, for Captain Stride is a pleasant cheery sort of man, and would be
agreeable company if 'e didn't use so much sea-langwidge, and speak so
much of 'is missis. An' I'm glad to 'ear it too, sir, on account o'
that fine young man that sailed with 'im--Mr Book, I think, was--"

"No, Mrs Bland, it was Brooke; but that's the worst of the business,"
said the old gentleman; "I'm not quite sure whether young Brooke _is_
among the saved. Here is what the telegram says:--

"`From Captain Stride to Jacob Crossley. Just arrived, (that's in New
York, Mrs Bland); _Walrus_ lost. All hands left her in three boats.

"`Our boat made uninhabited island, and knoc