ry Sheean, and promised to spake the last words I spoke to
her."

When I heard him say that, all my ould fears came over me fifty times
stronger than ever, for hadn't I broken my promise to O'Rourke? And I
could see now, from the family likeness, this was his spirit; and
instead of telling her _all_ he said, only given half his message to
poor Mary!

"Oh, be me sowl, good ghost!" says I.

"If I'm a ghost, I'm--"

He made a long pause, so I spoke.

"Never mind _what_," says I. "I don't want to axe any _post-mortem_
questions--"

"_Blest_!" says he.

"That's a great relief entirely," says I. "But if you are blessed, I'm
no fit company for you; so never mind your manners--don't stay to bid me
good-by, but go at onct!"

"You don't want me to stay?" says he.

"I don't," I replied.

"You are more changed than I am," he added.

"I shouldn't wonder," says I, "seeing the sort of company I am in."

"Do you find fault with my company?" asked he.

"I do," says I.

"And you wish me to go--down below again?"

"As soon as convanient," says I.

"Well, Philip Donavan," says he, "aither I or you are mortially
changed."

"It's you," says I. "My turn hasn't come yet, but it will, all in good
time."

"Phil Donavan, do you know who you are spaking to?"

"Faix I do, to my sorrow!" says I; "to Miles O'Rourke's ghost!"

"Miles O'Rourke's ghost!" says he.

"Dickens a doubt of it!" says I. "Didn't I see his body lying stark and
dead, wid the blood welling out in gallons from his heart?"

"It wasn't my heart, man alive--it was my shoulder; and shure it was the
loss of that same that made me faint! Take a hould of my hand, if you
doubt me! There's little left of it but skin and bone; but it's human
still!"

It was moightily against my own wish,--and wid a cowld shiver running
down my back, I did as he asked; but whin I did catch a hould of his
fist, ghost or no ghost, he nearly made mine into a jelly wid the
squeeze he gave it.

"Murther alive!" says I.

"Hould your whist! Remember, I'm a ghost!" says he.

"That's thrue for you!" says I; "and you must continue one for the rest
of the voyage, or maybe you will be trated as something worse!"

"What's that?" he asked.

"A stowaway!" says I. "The skipper's a good man enough; but if he
discovers you, the way he'll sarve you will be awful!"

"What will he do?" inquired he.

"Give you thirty-nine and land you!" says I.

"Land me where?"

"In the middl