e fire-flies, she sees, or fancies it, a face! It is
that of a man--him latest in her thoughts--Charles Clancy!

It is among the trees high up, on a level with the hurricane-deck.

Of course it can be but a fancy? Clancy could not be there, either in
the trees, or on the earth. She knows it is but a deception of her
senses--an illusive vision--such as occur to clairvoyantes, at times
deceiving themselves.

Illusion or not, Helen Armstrong has no time to reflect upon it. Ere
the face of her false lover fades from view; a pair of arms, black,
sinewy, and stiff, seem reaching towards her!

More than seem; it is a reality. Before she can stir from the spot, or
make effort to avoid them, she feels herself roughly grasped around the
waist, and lifted aloft into the air.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

UP AND DOWN.

Whatever has lifted Helen Armstrong aloft, for time holds her suspended.
Only for a few seconds, during which she sees the boat pass on beneath,
and her sister rush out to the stern rail, sending forth a scream
responsive to her own.

Before she can repeat the piercing cry, the thing grasping her relaxes
its hold, letting her go altogether, and she feels herself falling, as
from a great height. The sensation of giddiness is succeeded by a
shock, which almost deprives her of consciousness. It is but the fall,
broken by a plunge into water. Then there is a drumming in her ears, a
choking in the throat; in short, the sensation that precedes drowning.

Notwithstanding her late suicidal thoughts, the instinctive aversion to
death is stronger than her weariness of life, and instinctively does she
strive to avert it.

No longer crying out; she cannot; her throat is filled with the water of
the turbid stream. It stifles, as if a noose were being drawn around
her neck, tighter and tighter. She can neither speak nor shout, only
plunge and struggle.

Fortunately, while falling, the skirt of her dress, spreading as a
parachute, lessened the velocity of the descent. This still extended,
hinders her from sinking. As she knows not how to swim, it will not
sustain her long; itself becoming weighted with the water.

Her wild shriek, with that of her sister responding--the latter still
continued in terrified repetition--has summoned the passengers from the
saloon, a crowd collecting on the stern-guards.

"Some one overboard!" is the cry sent all over the vessel.

It reaches the ear of the pilot; who instantly