nhabitants to see him; for Mr. Ebenier was human, and his weak point
was a large estimate of his own consequence. He was on his way to the
Point to hail the yacht for a boat.

He followed the path better satisfied with himself than we are with
him, for it is not the part of a gentleman to fight unless attacked, or
to return epithet for epithet. But he had hardly taken half a dozen
steps, before a stone, as big as a man's fist, struck him on the back
of the head, and he dropped senseless upon the rocks, not killed, or
even badly hurt, but effectually stunned. This was Dock Vincent's mode
of warfare--to hit a man behind his back.

"Now you'll keep a civil tongue in your head for a while," said the
ruffian to himself, as he hastened towards his house.

The steward lay still upon his bed of rocks. The sun had gone down, and
the darkness gathered over him; but no one appeared to render him any
assistance. The blow had been a heavy one, and the blood ran down the
back of his head from the flesh wound it had produced.

When it was quite dark, Augustus, as he was called on board the yacht,
began to move and exhibit some signs of life; but a few minutes elapsed
before he had sufficiently recovered to rise. He got up, rubbed his
head, looked around him, and collected his ideas enough to know where
he was. He felt the blood on his head, but he was a strong-minded man,
and did not believe he was killed. He walked down to the landing-place,
and hailed the yacht without obtaining any response. He repeated the
call a dozen times with no better success. Either the crew were not on
board, or they had turned in for the night.

Augustus was a man of the world, and his philosophy was equal to almost
any occasion. He could not get on board, and therefore he decided to
remain on shore, which exhibited a nicety of judgment worthy of
commendation and imitation. Removing his collar, he bathed his head and
neck in cold salt water, and was satisfied that his wound was not a
dangerous one. He congratulated himself that the stone had not hit him
in the face, and thus marred his personal beauty; for, being an
exquisite in his own way, this would have been the most fearful
calamity that could possibly have happened to him.

After making himself presentable, so far as he could in the darkness,
and in the absence of a mirror, his first impulse was to find his
treacherous enemy, and punish him for his dastardly attack; for Mr.
Ebenier did not purp