a fair trade--but supposed that the
husband must have returned from sea and taken them away.
Uncle Loveday, of course, knew better, but on this point held his
peace. The one result of all his inquiries was the certainty that
the Railtons had vanished utterly.

So Lantrig, for the preservation of which my father had given his
life, was sold to strangers, and I went to live with Aunt and Uncle
Loveday at Lizard Town. The proceeds of the sale (and they were
small indeed) Uncle Loveday put carefully by until such time as I
should be cast upon the world to seek my fortune. For twelve
uneventful years my aunt fed me, and uncle taught me--being no mean
scholar, especially in Latin, which tongue he took great pains to
make me perfect in. Thomas Loveday was my only companion, and soon
became my dear friend. Poor Tom! I can see his handsome face before
me now as it was in those old days--the dreamy eyes, the rare smile
with its faint suggestion of mockery, the fair curls in which a
breeze seemed for ever blowing, the pursed lips that had a habit of
saying such wonderful things. In my dreams--those few dreams of mine
that are happy--we are always boys together, climbing the cliffs for
eggs, or risking our lives in Uncle Loveday's boat--always boys
together. Poor Tom! Poor Tom!

So the unmarked time rolled on, until there came a memorable day in
July on which I must touch for a moment. It was evening. I was
returning with Tom to Lizard Town from Dead Man's Rock, where we had
been basking all the sunny afternoon, Tom reading, and I simply
staring vacantly into the heavens and wondering when the time would
come that should set me free to unravel the mystery of this
ill-omened spot. Finally, after taking our fill of idleness, we
bathed as the sun was setting; and I remember wondering, as I dived
off the black ledge, whether beneath me there lay any relic of the
_Belle Fortune_, any fragment that might preserve some record of her
end. I had dived here often enough, but found nothing, nor could I
see anything to-day but the clean sand twinkling beneath its veil of
blue, though here, as I guessed, must still lie the bones of John
Railton. But I must hasten. We were returning over the Downs when
suddenly I spied a small figure running towards us, and making
frantic signals of distress.

"That," said I, "from the shape of it, must be Joe Roscorla."

And Joe Roscorla it was, only by no means the Joe Roscorla of
ordinary