pect we shall soon be there."

"That's what you always keep saying," was the impatient retort.

"Yes," said Poole coolly; "but it isn't my fault. It's the wind."

"Oh, hang the wind!"

"You should say, blow it!" said Poole, laughing. "But I say, old chap,
I don't want to damp you, but you really had better not indulge in any
hope of seeing any consul or English people who will help you to get
away. San Cristobal is a very solitary place, where the people are all
mongrels, a mixture of native Indians and half-bred Spaniards. Father
says they are like the volcano at the back of the city, for when it is
not blowing up, they are."

"Well, I shall learn all that for myself," said Fitz coldly.

"You will, old fellow, and before long too."

"What do you mean by that?" said Fitz sharply. "Only that we shall be
there for certain to-night." As it happened, the wind freshened a
little that evening, while the sunset that Poole had prophesied was
glorious in the extreme; a wondrous pile of massive clouds formed up
from the horizon almost to the zenith, shutting out the sun, and Fitz
watched the resplendent hues until his eyes were ready to ache--purple,
scarlet, orange and gold, with flashes in between of the most vivid
metallic blue, ever increasing, ever changing, until the eye could bear
no more and sought for rest in the sea through which they sailed, a sea
that resembled liquid rubies or so much wine.

But the end was coming fast, and like some transformation scene, the
clouds were slowly drawn aside, the vivid tints began to pale till they
died away into a rich, soft, purple gloom spangled with drops of gold.
And a deep sigh escaped from the middy's breast as he stood wondering
over the glories of the rapid change from glowing day into the soft,
transparent, tropic night.

"I never saw anything like that before," sighed the boy.

"No, I suppose not," was the reply. "It was almost worth coming all
this way to see. Doesn't it seem queer to you where all the clouds are
gone?"

"Yes," said Fitz; "I was thinking about that. There is only one left,
now, over yonder, with the sun glowing on it still."

"That's not the sun," said Poole quietly.

"Yes, it is. I mean there, that soft dull red. Look before it dies
out."

"That's the one I was looking at, and it won't die out; if you like to
watch you will see it looking dull and red like that all night."

"Oh, I see," cried Fitz mockingly; "you mean that the