t it; only the old man had
another fit when he heard it, and died without no mourners."

"It might be she was saved, after all," I said, with true Yankee
skepticism.

"Then why should I see her ghost, if she ain't dead-drownded?"

"Did you never find anything in the state-room that would explain?"

"Well, I did find some bits of paper, but I couldn't read writin'."

"Oh, what did you do with them?" I insisted, quivering with excitement.

"You won't tell the cap'n?"

"No, never."

"You'll give 'em back to me?"

"Yes, yes--of course."

"Here they be," he said, opening his shirt, and showing a little bag
hung round his neck like an amulet. He took out a little wad of brown
paper, and gave it jealously into my hand.

"I will give it back to you to-night," I said with the solemnity of an
oath, and carried it to my room.

It proved to be a short and fragmentary account of the sufferings which
the "missus" had endured in the middle room, written in pencil on coarse
wrapping-paper, and bearing marks of trembling hands and frequent tears.
I thought I might copy the papers without breaking faith with Pedro. The
outside paper bore these words:

"Whoever finds this is besought for pity's sake, by its most unhappy
writer, to send it as soon as possible to Mrs. Jane Atwood of
Davidsville, Connecticut, United States of America."

Then followed a letter to her mother:

Dearest Mother: If I never see your blessed face again, I know you will
not believe me guilty of what my husband accuses me of. I married
Captain Eliot for your sake, believing, since Herbert had proved
faithless, that no comfort was left to me except in pleasing others. I
meant to be a good wife to Captain Eliot, and I believe I should have
kept my vow all my days if the most unfortunate thing had not wakened
his jealousy. Since then he has been almost or quite crazed.

I knew we had a supercargo of whom Captain Eliot spoke highly. He kept
his room for a month from sea-sickness, and when he came out it was
Herbert. Of course I knew him, every line of his face had been so long
written on my heart. I strove to treat him as if I had never seen him
before, but the old familiar looks and tones were very hard to bear. If
Herbert could only have submitted patiently to our fate! But it was not
in him to be patient under anything, and one evening, when I was sitting
alone on deck, he must needs pour out his soul in one great burst,
trying to prove that he had