short stay, they were going to Northern Queensland to
introduce some new way of growing sugar.

But just as the passengers were growing social, and the panorama of
Southern England was growing more and more beautiful, the weather began
to change.

Its first vagary was in the shape of a fog while they were off the
Dorsetshire coast, and with the fog there was its companion, a calm.

"One of a sailor's greatest troubles," Mr Morgan said to Mark as they
were leaning over the taffrail watching the gulls, which seemed to come
in and out of the mist.

"But capital for a passenger who only wants to make his trip as long as
he can," said Mark laughingly.

"Ah! I forgot that you leave us at Plymouth," said the second-mate.

"Penzance," cried Mark.

"That depends on the weather, young man. If that happens to be bad you
will be dropped at Plymouth, and I'm afraid we are going to have a
change."

The second-mate was right, for before many hours had passed, and when
Start and Prawle points had been pointed out as they loomed up out of
the haze upon their right, the sea began to rise. That night the wind
was increasing to a gale, and Mark was oblivious, like several of the
passengers, of the grandeur of the waves; neither did he hear the
shrieking of the wind through the rigging. What he did hear was the
creaking and groaning of the timbers of the large ship as she rose and
fell, and the heavy thud of some wave which smote her bows and came down
like a cataract upon her deck.

"Come, Mark, Mark, my lad," the captain said, "you must hold up. You're
as bad as your mother."

"Are we going to the bottom, father?" was all Mark could gasp out.

"No, my boy," said the captain, laughing, "I hope not. This is only
what we sailors call a capful of wind."

Mrs Strong was too ill to leave her cabin, but the first-mate came to
give the sea-sick lad a friendly grip of the hand, and pat poor Bruff's
head as he sat looking extremely doleful, and seeming to wonder what it
all meant Mr Morgan, too, made his appearance from time to time.

Then all seemed to be rising up and plunging down with the shrieking of
wind, the beating of the waves, and darkness, and sickness, and misery.

Was it day or was it night? How long had he been ill? How long was all
this going to last?

Once or twice Mark tried to crawl out of his berth, but he was too weak
and ill to stir; besides which, the ship was tossing frightfully, and
once when the