One evening Captain Lester of the Maritana, then lying in Sydney harbour “awaiting orders,” called on Mrs. Brabant at the Royal Hotel.

“I have just received this from Captain Brabant, madam,” he said with studied, but cold politeness, as he handed her a letter.

She took it with an impatient gesture. “A letter to you and none to me! Surely he must have written, and the letter has miscarried.”

“No doubt, madam,” replied the captain of the Maritana in the same stiff tones.

Mrs. Brabant motioned him to a seat as she read the letter, first telling Minea, the Samoan maid, who was present, to leave the room. The girl obeyed, and as she passed Lester she gave him such a curious but friendly glance, that now for the first time he began to have a suspicion that she was not false to her master. Then, too, it suddenly flashed across his mind that according to Samoan custom, unknown to her mistress, Minea was a “sister” to Brabant, who had exchanged names with her father, a minor chief of a good family, on whose land Brabant had settled when he first came to Samoa. That alone, he knew, would ensure the girl's unswerving loyalty and devotion to her “brother”—she could not conceal from him anything that affected his honour or reputation.

“She'll tell him,” he thought, as he watched Mrs. Brabant read the letter; “thank God I shall be spared the task.”

Brabant's letter to Lester was very short. It was dated from Vavau, Friendly Islands, and was as follows:—

She handed him the letter. “Thank you, Captain Lester. When do you propose sailing?”

“I am ready for sea now, madam. I only await your pleasure.”

He did not look at her as he spoke, for he feared that the hatred and contempt with which he regarded her would show itself in his face.

“I can come on board to-morrow. Will that do?” she asked.

“Certainly, madam, if it will not hurry you too much.”

“Not at all, Captain; I am sick of Sydney, and am only too glad to come on board the Maritana again.” She spoke with a friendly warmth, but Lester's distantly polite manner gave her no encouragement.

“Will you not stay and dine with me?” she asked, with a smile; “do say yes. I feel quite angry that my husband has not written to me. I am really a deserted wife. Don't you think so, Captain Lester?”

Her forced pleasantry was thrown away.

“I am very sorry, Mrs. Brabant, but as we are to sail to-morrow, I must hasten on board at once. There are many matters to which I must attend.”

He rose and bowed stiffly, and Nell Brabant extended her hand. He touched it, and in another moment was gone. She sank back in her chair with a white face and terror in her eyes. What did he mean by his cold and distant manner? Did he suspect anything? Did he know anything? How could he? Minea alone knew that she had left Sydney for a month with Danvers, and Minea would not betray her! What need to fear anything?

Then, satisfied with her own powers of intrigue, she smiled to herself, and dismissed Lester's cold face and unresponsive manner from her mind.

When Lester went on board again he took from his pocket a second letter from Brabant, which was marked “Private and Confidential,” and with a puzzled brow read it over again. “I want you, Lester, to attend carefully to my instructions. You are to consider my other letter as cancelled. I wish you, instead of coming to Tonga, to make all possible haste to 22 10' S. and 170 25' E. I shall meet you there or thereabouts in the Loelia.—Yours sincerely. J. B.”

“What does all this mystery mean, I wonder?” he muttered, as he looked at an outspread chart on the table; “why should he pick upon the vicinity of such a God-forsaken spot as Hunter's Island for a rendezvous? But it's none of my business.” Then he turned in and slept.

Sunset in the South Seas.

The Loelia was lazily head-reaching towards Hunter's Island, about six miles distant, its grim and rugged outlines showing out clearly under the yellow streaks of the sinking sun, Pedro Diaz was on deck, drinking his coffee, when the native seaman who was on the lookout cried—

“Sail ho, sir! Away there on the weather beam.”

Diaz stepped below to Brabant, who was lying in his bunk reading a book.

“Here she is, sir.”

“Ah! three days sooner than I expected her, Pedro. You know what to do, don't you? Here is the letter for Lester. Get away as quickly as you can. The night will be fine and clear, and there will be no need to hoist a light for you.”

He handed the officer a letter addressed to “Captain James Lester, schooner Maritana,” and then rose and began to dress himself.

In a few minutes the cutter's boat, with Pedro Diaz and four hands, was pulling towards the Maritana which was coming along under a six-knot breeze. The moment the boat left the side Brabant set the gaff topsail and square-sail, and headed the Loelia towards the north end of the island. Just as she disappeared from the view of those on board the approaching vessel, Pedro Diaz came within hailing distance. He stood up.

“Maritana ahoy!”

Lester's voice replied to his hail, the schooner was brought to the wind, the boat ranged alongside, and Diaz ascended.

“How are you, Lester?” he said, shaking hands with his friend. “I have no time to talk. Read this letter at once, and let me get away with all speed.”

Lester was impressed with the emphatic manner in which he spoke, and without a single question opened Brabant's letter. Then an exclamation of astonishment burst from him.

“What does it all mean, Pedro? I——”

The Chileno waved his hand impatiently, and shrugged his shoulders. “We must obey orders, Lester.”

“Of course. I shall let Mrs. Brabant know at once.” Then he read the letter a second time.

That was all. Lester stepped below, and found his passenger seated at the cabin table.

“That vessel is the Loelia madam, and Diaz has just come aboard with this letter;” and he handed it to her.

“What an extraordinary thing! Why did not my husband come for me himself if he is so anxious for me to join him on the Loelia. Is she close-to?”

“Yes, but not in sight. I think Captain Brabant was afraid of the wind failing, and the cutter drifting in on the weather side of the island, for he has gone round to the lee side.”

Calling Minea, Mrs. Brabant hurriedly packed some necessary clothing, telling the girl the reason for such haste, and in a few minutes she sent word on deck that she was ready. Diaz was already in the boat, steer-oar in hand, and talking to Lester, who was leaning over the rail, wondering why his former comrade seemed so embarrassed, and impatient to get away.

Mrs. Brabant held out her hand. “Good-bye, Captain Lester. I hope you will have a quick passage to Levuka. Goodbye, Minea.”

She descended the ladder into the boat, and took her seat, Diaz lifted his hat, and then gave the word to push off.

“Good-bye, Pedro,” said Lester.

The Chileno looked up.

“Good-bye, Jim, old comrade.”

The men stretched to their oars, and the whaleboat shot out towards the dark shadow of the island as the crew of the Maritana went to the braces, the yards swung round, and she stood away to the eastward, and Lester, with a strange feeling of unrest oppressing him, leant with folded arms upon the rail, and wondered why Pedro Diaz had given such a tone of sadness to his last words.

The night was clear with the light of myriad stars, as the boat swept through the gently heaving sea. Diaz, standing grim and sombre-faced at the steer-oar, had not spoken a word since the boat left the ship. His eyes looked straight ahead.

Mrs. Brabant had never liked the dark, sullen-faced Chilian, but now there came into her heart such a sudden, horrible feeling of loneliness that she felt she would be glad to hear him speak.

“Is my husband quite well, Mr. Diaz?”

“Quite well, madam,” he replied, still staring straight before him.

His voice appalled her, and she made no further effort to break the dreadful silence as she looked at the black bulk of the island, along whose fissured sides there every now and then ran ragged sheets of smoky flame. The boat rounded the island, and then when opposite the little bay, Diaz swung her head round, and headed directly for the shore.

“Are we landing here?” asked the woman in a faint, terrified voice.

“Yes.”

The boat touched the shore, the crew jumped out, carried Mrs. Brabant's two boxes to the beach, placed a lighted boat-lantern on one, and then Diaz silently held out his hand to assist her on shore.

She stepped out, and then stood facing him for a moment, her cheek showing the pallor of deadly fear. Then the seaman thrust his hand in the breast of his coat, and handed her a letter. In another instant, without a word of farewell, he had leapt into the boat again, which at once pushed off—and she was alone.

When daylight broke it revealed two figures on the lonely beach—one a woman, who lay prone upon the ground, and wept in silent anguish, and the other a man, whose frightful aspect made him look scarcely human. He was kneeling beside one of the boxes, glaring with the eyes of one almost mad with horror at a letter he had taken from the woman's hand when he discovered her lying unconscious.

And never again were Danvers and Nell Brabant seen by men, and John Brabant and the Loelia and her crew were supposed to have been lost at sea.