throat!--he would beg for mercy, but cannot, shall not! Keep your
fingers in his throat; the other hand creeps warily downwards. Now
hurl him up,--over!--

* * * * *

But with what an ugly gulp the black water swallowed his body!

XI.

A DEAD WEIGHT.

Was it not well done? Tempted to covet imaginary wickedness, Helwyse
was ripe for real crime,--and who so worthy to suffer as the tempter?

He leaned panting against taffrail. His predominant feeling was that
he had been ensnared. His judgment had been drugged, and he had been
lured on to evil. An infamous conspiracy!

His breath regained, he stood upright and in a mechanical manner
arranged his disordered dress. His haversack was gone,--had been torn
from his shoulders and carried overboard. An awkward loss! for it
contained, among other things, valuable letters and papers given him
by his father; not to mention a note-book of his own, and Uncle
Glyphic's miniature. His dead enemy had carried off the proofs of his
murderer's identity!

Not till now did Helwyse become aware of an unusual tumult on the
steamer. Had they seen the deed?--He stood with set teeth, one hand on
the taffrail. Rather than be taken alive, he would leap over!

But it soon became evident that the nucleus of excitement was
elsewhere. The "Empire State" was at a stand-still. Captain and mates
were shouting to one another and at the sailors. By the flying light
of the lanterns Helwyse caught glimpses of the sails and tall masts of
a schooner. He began to comprehend what had happened.

"Thank God! that saves me," he said with a sense of relaxation. Then
he turned and peered fearfully into the black abyss beyond the stern.
Nothing there! nothing save the heavy breathing of remorseless waves.

The statistics of things God has been thanked for,--what piquant
instances would such a collection afford! Any unusual stir of emotion
seems to impel a reference to something higher than the world. Only a
bloodless calm appears to be secure from God's interference. It is
worthy of remark that this was the first time in Helwyse's career--at
least since his arrival at years of discretion--that he had thanked
God for anything. This was not owing to his being of a specially
ungrateful disposition, but to peculiar ideas upon the subject of a
Supreme Being. God, he believed, was no more than the highest phase of
man; and in any man of sufficient natural endowment, he saw