was
accordingly allowed to accompany his father and his friend home.

Jack, though he liked the thoughts of going to sea, was very sorry to
leave his father and mother and dear little Margery, but he bravely kept
up his spirits, that he might not grieve them more than he could help.

Not a word of complaint either did he utter against Mr Ludlow, or those
who had brought him into trouble. "It will be a lesson to me through
life to avoid associating with those who are doing wrong," he remarked,
and he said but little more on the subject.

There was a void not likely soon to be filled in the old tower, and a
greater still in the hearts of its inmates, when Jack Askew went to sea.
They occasionally received letters from him, not very often though, and
they found that many he had written had not reached them. The last
letter they received was dated from a port on the coast of Peru. The
ship was about to sail among some of the wide-scattered islands of the
Pacific, whose then still savage inhabitants were said to be addicted to
the worst vices which disgrace humanity. In vain they waited for
another letter--none came. Hope deferred maketh the heart sick. Still
they hoped, and hoped on, that tidings would come some day or other.

At length rumours arrived that Captain Summers' ship, the _Truelove_,
with all hands, had been lost on a coral reef. Captain Askew would not
allow himself to believe the report, and he took a journey to London to
ascertain its truth. "God's will be done, dear wife," he said when he
came back. "He that gave has taken our child away." Many a pious
parent has repeated the same words, yet with anguish of heart. Still
they went on hoping against hope. However, at length it became too
certain that the _Truelove_ had been lost, and that not a trace of her
crew had been discovered, although a brother captain of Captain Summers
had made every inquiry in his power, and a ship of war had been sent to
search for them.

Margery was now the sole earthly object round which the affections of
Captain and Mrs Askew ere entwined. Tom Bowlby, too, had transferred
his love for her brother to her. She was a bright sunny little
creature, with light auburn hair, deep blue eyes, and a pure rich
glowing complexion, which might have vied with that of the lily, had it
not been burnt by the sun and sea breezes. No one who saw her, or heard
her joyous ringing laugh, or her voice so soft or gentle when moved by