THE ENGLISHMAN'S DILEMMA.

Morgianna Lane was the brightest gem in the little Maryland village. The romantic mystery which enshrouded her birth seemed only to add to the charm about her. Of course Fernando could not long be in the village without learning that she was not the daughter of Captain Lane, but a sea waif.

Frequently foundlings have some birth mark or scar about them, or there is some letter or significant mark about their clothing by which in after years they may be identified and their parentage made known; but in the case of Morgianna there was no probability of her identity ever being discovered. Her plump little arms were utterly devoid of scar or mark; the clothes found upon the infant had no initial whatever, and were cast aside, just as other worn-out garments.

Fernando Stevens, in due time, called on Captain Lane, whom he found to be as jolly an old Jack Tar as lives. He was greatly amused at the escapade of the student, but cautioned him against his Irish friend.

"I have no doubt this Terrence Malone is a good, noble young fellow; but he has too much native mischief in his composition, and will get you from one scrape into another with marvellous regularity. I don't mean that you should cut him adrift; but though you sail in company with him, do not allow him to get too far windward of you. When you see he's going to fly right into the teeth of some rash fate, get on the other tack, that's all. You did honorably, however, in fighting the duel with Lieutenant Matson, even if he is my friend."

"Is he your friend?"

"Yes; his father and I shipped afore the mast when we were boys together. When the war broke out, he entered the British navy while I went aboard a Yankee privateer. I am glad to say we never met in battle."

Fernando felt himself growing just a little bit uneasy. He did not like this friendship between the captain and Lieutenant Matson; and he could see that the old seaman was glad the lieutenant's wound was not fatal.

What strange emotion stirred the Ohio student's soul, when he met the soft eyes of Morgianna, words cannot express. She talked on a variety of subjects, and at times Fernando flattered himself that she was pleased to have him with her; but the next moment he reasoned that it might be only her good breeding which made her appear to tolerate him. Fernando was not foolish enough to be conceited. He lived in hope and doubt and was the happiest man at times, and at others the most miserable. Though he took Sukey into his confidence, Fernando was a little shy of Terrence.

The reader will remember that Terrence had, on entering the village, suggested the propriety of going under assumed names. Fernando had forgotten, if he ever knew, that he was registered at the tavern as Mr. Phil. Magrew of Hartford, and that good, innocent Sukey was George Molesworth, while Terrence was Larry O'Connor, a name quite in keeping with his nationality. A ludicrous mistake, which came near being fatal to Fernando's respectability at Mariana, resulted from this incident.

They had been a week at the tavern, and Fernando, who had lived a thousand years of alternating bliss and agony in that short period, was sitting in the bar-room in front of a great roaring fire, which the chill evening of early autumn made comfortable, utterly oblivious of the grumbling of the landlord, who was saying:

"When people stay a whole week 'thout any luggage, it be high time they pay up. I wonder Mr. Magrew don't take notice on't."

The supposed Mr. Magrew, however, did not hear what he said. He was gazing into the blazing fire, weaving bright pictures from which the eyes of Morgianna seemed gazing at him. Fernando had forgotten the academy, home, parents and all in this new inspiration. Terrence and Sukey entered while the landlord was still grumbling and looking hard at Fernando, who was utterly oblivious of his wrath.

"Mister Magrew, be ye a man o' honor?" demanded mine host; but "Mr. Magrew" was as indifferent as a statue of stone. "The wagabond sits there an' hears himself abused an' be too heedless to answer. By the mass, I will even tweak his nose! Magrew--Magrew--I'll wake you!"

All the while Terrence, Sukey, and everybody else was wondering whom the enraged landlord meant. Suddenly Terrence recollected that he had registered Fernando under the name of Philip Magrew. He hastened to meet the landlord before he reached Fernando, and thus prevented a collision, which would have been violent indeed.

"Me frind, the honorable Misthur Magrew, is hard o' hearing," explained the Irishman in an undertone.

"Be hard o' hearin'? then he be hard o' payin' too," answered the landlord. "He 'ave been a whole veek in my 'ouse and not one pickyunne 'ave paid."

"Lave all to me," said the Irishman in his conciliatory manner, gently leading the landlord to another part of the room. "Ye see me frind, knowing his infirmity, asked mesilf to pay all bills for Misthur Magrew, and he gave me the money, I clear forgot it, or I should have paid you."

Then Terrence drew forth a well-filled purse, which greatly mollified the landlord, and when all differences were squared, he was completely satisfied, smiling and agreeable.

Thus Fernando passed over a dangerous period in his life and never knew how near he came having his nose pulled; nor did the landlord ever know how near he came to being knocked down for such an attempt.

Morgianna had spoken on one occasion of the beauty of moonlight on the seashore, and Fernando was bold enough to ask the pleasure of rowing herself and father to the headlands some evening. She assented. The old sailor had a friend visiting at his house, an old ex-sea-captain like himself, and the four decided to make the voyage across the little bay and sit for an hour on the rocky promontory and listen to the "dashing waves." Fernando willingly welcomed the acquaintance as a fourth to the party, for he was shrewd enough to see that the old sailors would be so wholly engrossed with each other, that they would scarcely notice the young people, and Morgianna and he would be left quite to themselves.

Fernando, though an amateur at the oar, would on no account be dissuaded from rowing the small boat to the promontory; and, having helped Morgianna, who was lightest, into a seat in the bow (inexpressible happiness) he cheerfully took his seat at the oars with the old men in the stern facing each other. Then the little craft was cast loose, and the young westerner bent to his oars and sent the boat swiftly through the water. Of course Fernando's back was toward Morgianna, and he could not see her, save when he twisted his head "quite off," which he did frequently; but he could hear her silvery voice humming snatches of a song, or her dimpled hand playing in the phosphorescent water which sparkled like flashes of fire in their wake. The old men kept up a continual talk, for which Fernando was exceedingly grateful. Finally the promontory was gained, and in a quiet little cove Fernando beached his boat and, springing out, took the small, white hand of Morgianna and assisted her to the dry sands, so gallantly that her dainty little slippered foot did not touch the water.

Then the whole party ascended the hill to the opposite side of the promontory where the sea was beating furiously. Fernando was almost beside himself with joy to find Morgianna clinging to his arm in the ascent, and to hear her sweet voice in low, gentle tones breathing in his ear. It was a fine, clear night, and for all her lowness of spirits, Morgianna kept looking up at the stars in a manner so bewitching that Fernando was clear out of his senses, and plainly showed that, if ever a man were over head and ears in love, that man was himself. The path they were ascending was quite steep, and Fernando could not help glancing at the pretty little hand, encased in a cream-colored kid glove, resting on his arm. If Fernando had known that an executioner were behind him with an axe raised, ready to cut off his head if he touched that hand, he could not have helped doing it. From putting his own right hand upon it as if by chance, and taking it away again after a minute or so, and then putting it back again, he got to walking along without taking it off at all, as if he, the escort, were bound to do that as an important duty, and had come for that purpose. The most curious thing about this little incident was, that Morgianna did not seem to know it. She looked so innocent and unconscious when she turned her eyes on Fernando, that it was quite provoking.

She talked about the sea, the hills, the rocks, the sky, the stars, while the old men went on ahead, and when she slipped on the verge of a precipice three feet high and came near falling into a pool of dirty water, and he saved her from the fall by his coolness and daring, she thanked him and told him how grateful she was that he was near, and he said something about how happy he would be to be always near her, to guard her footsteps along life's rugged pathway. Then she said something to the effect that it would be pleasant if one could always have one's friends near, and that she hoped they would always be friends from that time forth. And when Fernando said, "not friends" he hoped, Morgianna was quite surprised and said not enemies she hoped; and when Fernando suggested that they might be something better than either, Morgianna, all of a sudden, found a star, which was brighter than all the other stars, and begged to call his attention to the same, and was ten times more innocent and unconscious than ever.

In this way, they journeyed up the steep ascent, talking very little above a whisper, and wishing that the promontory was a dozen times higher--at least, such was Fernando's wish--when they finally reached the top and saw the two old men under the lee cliff listening to the ocean's hollow roar.

Fernando carried a robe and some wraps for Morgianna, and he conducted her to a sheltered spot below the first ledge of rocks, where he spread a robe for her to sit on, and then, with loving fingers that thrilled with each touch, adjusted the wraps about her shapely little shoulders. For a long time they sat listening to the wild roar of the angry waters below, gazing on the phosphorescent flashes, where the swelling waves broke in crested splendor on the well-worn rocks.

He was first to break the silence.

"Miss Lane," he said, "had I known that Lieutenant Matson was your personal friend, I would have suffered disgrace rather than encountered him."

With a smile, she answered:

"It all turned out right. The lieutenant was scarcely injured at all."

"Have you heard of him?"

"I have heard from him," she answered, glancing slyly at Fernando from the corners of her roguish eyes. "He wrote me a letter which I received to-day."

Fernando felt a pain at his heart, but it was nothing to compare with the shame and mortification which followed. She informed him that Lieutenant Matson was so slightly wounded, that his seconds decided on a second fire, and sent a boat to inform them as they had left the beach, but that, although they chased the Americans for miles, they could not bring them back. Fernando was stunned by the information, and filled with mortification and chagrin.

"Do you think I am afraid to meet him again?" he asked, his voice trembling with ill-suppressed excitement.

"I don't know; but you won't, anyway--you are both my friends, and my friends shall not fight."

Fernando made no answer, but at that moment he would very much have liked to knock her friend on the head. Of course a second meeting with the Briton would now have been highly pleasing to the student; but it was out of the question. The hour on the promontory was passed in alternating bliss and misery, and when the time came to return, he was no nearer the subject dearest of all subjects than before.

He hastened back to the tavern, where he found his Irish friend playing cards with the landlord and winning several weeks' board in advance.

"Terrence, it is a fine fix you got me in by hurrying away from the sands so soon that morning," he said angrily, when he got him to his room.

"Why, me boy, what d'ye mane?"

"That lieutenant was only slightly wounded, and that boat was chasing us to bring us back for another shot."

"So ye've heard it at last, me frind?"

"Certainly I have, and now I will be branded as a coward."

"Lave it all to me. The Britishers are in trouble enough. Sure, haven't ye read the Baltimore papers? Captain Conkerall is to be tried by a court-martial for gettin' bastely drunk and goin' abroad with no garment but his shirt, and a sheet with a hole in it." Terrence laughed until the tears trickled down his cheeks. Fernando could not see how he could help fighting the lieutenant again if he demanded satisfaction; but the Irishman was quite sure the lieutenant would have enough to do to keep his captain out of his dilemma. Sukey, who had entered during their conversation, said:

"Oh, Fernando, why didn't you aim higher and blow his head off?"

"Why did the lieutenant challenge me, when the captain was the injured party?" asked Fernando.

Terrence explained that, while the Captain was really the injured party, it was a matter of courtesy that his officer lower in rank should take the quarrel upon himself, more especially as Fernando had been his successful rival at the ball. From this, the conversation gradually led to Morgianna herself, and Terrence laughed and winked; and called Fernando a lucky dog.

"Go in, me boy, and if ye nade any help, I am at hand."

"I fear I have injured my prospects there," said Fernando.

"How?"

"By the duel. Lieutenant Matson is an old friend of the captain, and I believe a suitor for the hand of his daughter. What show has a schoolboy against a lieutenant in the English navy?--none."

"Yes he has," declared Terrence.

"What show can he have?"

"Lave it all to me, me frind, and I will bring ye out all right, see if I don't."

"I have left too many things to you, Terrence, and you have a most remarkable faculty for getting me into trouble."

Terrence assured him that he would yet aid him to outgeneral the Englishman, and he only wished that he might come into port during their stay.

"Terrence, you must take no advantage of the public hatred of the English to accomplish your purpose. Remember, Lieutenant Matson is the son of Captain Lane's friend. You might raise a mob and have him driven away; but I will not consent to it."

"Indade, I don't mane it, me boy. Lave it to me. If he comes ashore, faith, we'll out-gineral him, sure."

Next day there came letters for the runaways. Terrence's father, being wealthy and influential, had gone to Baltimore, interceded with the faculty and had the runaway scapegraces retained. There were also letters from the parents of the young men, condemning, but at the time forgiving and warning them to be more careful in the future.

It was some distance by the road to Baltimore, and the boys decided to take passage in a coasting schooner which was loading with barley and would be ready to go in three days.

One morning, two days before their intended departure, Fernando, on going out upon the street, was surprised and really alarmed to see an English man-of-war anchored in the little harbor of Marianna. His uneasiness was greatly increased on reading the name Xenophon on the broad pennant floating from the main mast. His enemy was in port, and he could guess his object, especially when he saw Captain Lane's carriage waiting on the sands while Lieutenant Matson was being rowed ashore. Fernando gnashed his teeth and there were some ugly thoughts in his heart.

Sukey who had come out hastened to his side and reading his thoughts said:

"Now don't you wish you had aimed higher?"

The citizens, noticing the approach of an English war vessel, began to congregate in a large body on the north side of the village, and their demonstrations were decidedly hostile to the landing of the Briton. Suddenly Captain Lane appeared among them, waving his staff and shouting. Having gained their attention, the old sea-captain mounted the stile near the village store and said:

"Shipmates and friends, the man coming ashore is the son of a man whom I loved. I have sent my carriage down to bring him to my house where he is to be my guest. You have all heard me tell how his father saved my life. Would you injure him now, when he comes to pay me a friendly visit?" In a short time the crowd dispersed, and Lieutenant Matson landed, entered the carriage and was driven to the house of Captain Lane.

From the street, Fernando, with bitter feelings in his heart, saw the carriage ascend the hill. He turned about and entered the tavern, went to his room and shut himself up. Here he remained until the middle of the afternoon, when there came a knock at the door, and, on opening it, he was astonished to find one of the negroes of Captain Lane's house. He was dressed in livery and held a note in his hand, which he gave to "Mistah Stevens," bowed politely and awaited his answer.

The utter amazement of Fernando can better be imagined than described at finding the note from Miss Morgianna Lane inviting himself and his friends to tea that evening with themselves, Lieutenant Matson and ensign Post of his majesty's ship Xenophon. Had Fernando been summoned to a command in his majesty's navy, he could not have been more astonished. He hesitated a moment and then decided to accept. This Englishman should neither out-do him in generosity nor affrontery. Besides, the invitation came from Morgianna, and he could not refuse. He wrote a polite answer, accepting the kind invitation and went to find Sukey and Terrence. Sukey thought it would be a little odd for Fernando to meet a man with whom he had exchanged shots; but Terrence declared it was the only "dacint" thing to do. They were not "haythin," to bear grudges.

Consequently they went. The minds of the Americans were filled with doubt and perplexity, while the Irishman was chuckling at a plan his cunning brain was evolving, and which he determined to put in execution. The Englishmen met the Americans very cordially, and Lieutenant Matson, who was every inch a gentleman, did not dare be other than genteel in the presence of the lady he loved; for he was as passionately in love with Morgianna as was Fernando. The lieutenant was of a romantic turn of mind, and the mystery of the sea waif had interested him. He was quite sure she was the daughter of some nobleman. He had read in romances so many cases similar to hers, that he could not believe this would turn out otherwise.

When Fernando and the lieutenant had shaken hands and mutually agreed to bury all past differences, had they not been rivals they might have become friends, for each recognized in the other some qualities that were admirable.

The beauty of a lovely woman is like music, rich in cadence and sweet in rhythm; but that beauty must be for one alone. It cannot, like music, be shared with others. The best of friends may, as rivals, become the bitterest foes. Fernando did not like the Englishman, for, with all his blandness, he thought he could observe a pompous air and self-consciousness of superiority, disgusting to sensible persons. This might have been prejudice or the result of imagination, yet he realized that he was in the presence of an ambitious rival, who would go to any length to gain his purpose.

The most careful and disinterested observer could not have discovered any preference on the part of Morgianna. When they came to the table, she had the lieutenant on one side and Fernando on the other. The old captain at the head engrossed much of Lieutenant Matson's time talking about his father, greatly to the annoyance of the officer. When Matson came to take his seat at the table, Terrence, who sat on the opposite side of the lieutenant, whispered:

"Aisy!"

The lieutenant bit his lips and his face flushed angrily, while Sukey, who sat on the opposite side of the Irishman, snickered, and Morgianna bit her pretty lip most cruelly in trying to conceal the merriment which her roguish eyes expressed.

This was the only break made by the Irishman that evening. He played his part with consummate grace and had such a way of winning the favor of people, that, before the evening was over, the Englishman actually came to like him. He praised the country about Mariana, and talked of the harbors and islands, declaring he knew them all from Duck Island to the Chesapeake. He found Lieutenant Matson somewhat of a sport, and soon interested him in stories of duck shooting, all of which were inventions of his own ingenious brain. Miss Morgianna praised the wild ducks of Maryland and thought their flesh equal to English Capons. The lieutenant, in his gallantry, vowed she should have half a dozen brace of fowls before he left, and Terrence volunteered to assist him.

Fernando was amazed at the course of his friend. The man-of-war was to sail the same day their schooner did, and he had just determined, by the aid of Terrence, to bag five dozen brace of ducks for the belle of Mariana, when his friend went boldly over to the enemy.

"I'll give it to him, when I get a chance," he thought.

There was only one more night in which they could shoot ducks, and Terrence was engaged for that occasion. Fernando sighed and ground his teeth in rage and disappointment, while Morgianna, with Sukey on one side and Ensign Post on the other, went to a large Broadwood piano, where she soon entertained all with her music.

As they went to their tavern that night, Fernando said:

"A nice way you have treated me, Terrence, you who profess to be my friend."

"What the divil ails the boy?" asked Terrence.

"You have volunteered to aid the lieutenant go ducking--"

"Aisy me boy! While the lieutenant is after ducks, lose no time with the girl. Don't ye see I'm getting him out of yer way?"

Fernando had not thought of it in that light. On the next evening, the last they were to spend at Mariana, the lieutenant was rowed ashore attired for sporting, with top-boots and a double-barrelled fowling piece. Terrence, who claimed to be an experienced hunter, advised him to "kape their intintions sacrit," as too many might want to go, and that would spoil the sport. Ducks could best be hunted after night. He would show him how it was done.

It was almost dark, when they set off in a small rowboat for Duck Island, and twenty minutes later Fernando was on his way to his farewell visit to Morgianna.

The sun had set, but it was not yet dark when Fernando reached the broad piazza. He asked himself if she would be at home or away. He had said nothing of his coming. This visit was wholly on his own account. He had walked up and down the piazza two or three times, when through the open door he caught the flutter of a garment on the stairway. It was Morgianna's--to whom else could it belong? No dress but hers had such a flow as that. He gathered up courage and followed it into the hallway.

His darkening the door, into which the sombre shadows of twilight were already creeping, caused her to look around. "Oh that face! If it hadn't been for that," thought Fernando, "I could never have faced the Briton. She is twenty times handsomer than ever. She might marry a Lord!"

He didn't say this. He only thought it--perhaps looked it also. Morgianna was glad to see him and was so sorry her father was away from home. Fernando begged she would not worry herself on any account.

Morgianna hesitated to lead the way into the parlor, for there it was nearly dark. At the same time she hesitated to stand talking in the hall, which was tolerably light from the open door. They still stood in the hall in an embarrassing position, Fernando holding her hand in his (which he had no right to do, for Morgianna had only given it to him to shake), and yet both hesitated to go or stay anywhere.

"I have come," said Fernando, "to say good-bye--to say good-bye, for I don't know how many years; perhaps forever. I am going away."

Now this was exactly what he should not have said. Here he was, talking like a gentleman at large, who was free to come and go and roam about the world at his pleasure, when he had expressed both in actions and words that Miss Lane held him in adamantine chains.

Morgianna released her hand and said:

"Indeed!"

She remarked in the same breath that it was a fine night and, in short, betrayed not the least emotion. With despair still settling over his heart, Fernando said:

"I couldn't go without coming to see you. I hadn't the heart to."

Morgianna was more sorry than she could tell that he had taken the trouble. It was a long walk up the hill, and as he was to sail next day, he must have a deal to do; as if she did not know that he had not brought even a trunk with him. Then she wanted to know how Mr. Winners was and Mr. Malone. She thought the Irishman a capital good fellow, and was sure no one could help liking him.

"Is this all you have to say?" Fernando asked.

All! Good gracious, what did the man expect? She was obliged to take her apron in her hand and run her eyes along the hem from corner to corner, to keep herself from laughing in his face;--not because his gaze confused her--not at all.

This was Fernando's first experience in love affairs, and he had no idea how different young ladies are at different times. He had expected a far different scene from the one which was being enacted. All day long he had buoyed himself up with an indistinct idea that she would certainly say, "Don't go," or "Don't leave us," or "Why do you go?" or "Why do you leave us?" or would give him some little encouragement of that sort. He had even entertained the possibility of her bursting into tears, of her throwing herself into his arms, or falling down in a fainting fit, without previous word or sign; but any approach to such a line of conduct as this was evidently so far from her thoughts, that he could only look at her in silent wonder. The hated English rival had won her heart, and she was even glad he was going; yet it was so hard to give her up.

Morgianna, in the meanwhile, turned to the corners of her apron and measured the sides, and smoothed out the wrinkles, and was as silent as he. At last, after a long pause, he said good-bye.

"Good-bye," answered Morgianna with as pleasant a smile as if he were only going for a row on the water and would return after supper; "good-bye."

"Come," said Fernando, putting out his hands, "Morgianna, dear Morgianna, let us not part like this. I love you dearly, with all my heart and soul, with as much sincerity and truth as man ever loved woman. I am only a poor student; but in this new world every thing is possible. You have it in your power to make me a grand and noble man, or crush from this heart every ambitious hope. You are wealthy, beautiful, admired, loved by everybody and happy;--may you ever be so! Heaven forbid I should ever make you otherwise; but give me one word of comfort. Say something kind to me. I have no right to expect it of you, I know; but I ask it because I love you, and I shall treasure the slightest word from you all through my life. Morgianna, dearest, have you nothing to say to me?"

No, nothing. Morgianna was a coquette by nature, and a spoilt child. She had no notion of being carried off by storm in this way. Fernando had no business to be going away. Besides, if he really loved her, why did he not fall on his knees like lovers in romance or on the stage, and tug wildly at his cravat, or talk in a wild, poetic manner?

"I have said good-bye twice," said Morgianna. "Take your arm away, or I will call some one."

"I will not reproach you," Fernando sadly answered. "It's no doubt my fault," he added with a sigh. "I have thought sometimes that you did not quite despise me; but I was a fool to do so. Every one must, who has seen the life I have led of late--you most of all, for it was he at whose life I aimed. God bless you!"

He was gone, actually gone. She waited a little while, thinking he would return, peeped out of the door, looked down the broad carriage drive as well as the increasing darkness would allow, saw a hastily retreating shadow melt into the general gloom, came in again, waited a little longer, then went up to her room, bolted herself in, threw herself on her bed and cried as if her heart would break.

Meanwhile, Terrence Malone and the lieutenant, Fernando's rival, were rowing toward Duck Island fire or six miles away. The island was reached. It was a dismal affair little more than an elevated marsh. When the tide was out on Duck Island, its extended dreariness was potent. Its spongy, low-lying surface, sluggish, inky pools and tortuous sloughs, twisting their slimy way, eel-like, toward the open bay were all hard facts. Occasionally, here and there, could be seen a few green tussocks, with their scant blades, their amphibious flavor and unpleasant dampness. And if you chose to indulge your fancy, although the flat monotony of Duck Island was not inspiring, the wavy line of scattered drift gave an unpleasant consciousness of the spent waters and made the certainty of the returning tide a gloomy reflection, which sunshine could not wholly dissipate. The greener salt meadows seemed oppressed with this idea and made no positive attempt at vegetation. In the low bushes, one might fancy there was one sacred spot not wholly spoiled by the injudicious use of too much sea water.

The vocal expressions of Duck Island were in keeping with its general appearance, melancholy and depressing. The sepulchral boom of the bittern, the shriek of the curlew, the scream of the passing brent, the wrangling of quarrelsome teal, the sharp, querulous protest of the startled crane, were all beyond powers of written expression. The aspect of these mournful fowls was not at all cheerful or inspiring, as the boat containing the Irishman and lieutenant approached the island. Through the gathering gloom of night could be seen a tall blue heron, standing midleg deep in water, obviously catching cold in his reckless disregard for wet feet and consequences. The mournful curlew, the dejected plover and the low-spirited snipe, who sought to join him in his suicidal contemplations, the raven, soaring through the air on restless wings, croaking his melancholy complaints were not calculated to add to the cheerfulness of the scene.

[ILLUSTRATION: He sat down on a broken mast.]

It was evident that even the inhabitants of Duck Island were not happy in its possession and looked forward with pleasure to the season of migration.

The boat touched the north shore, and Lieutenant Matson jumped out in mud up to his knees, frightening some wild fowls which flew screaming away. The Englishman gave vent to some strong language, and desired to know if there was not a better landing place. Terrence assured him there was not, and complained that ducks never sought a "dacint place" for their habitation. Nothing but the glorious reflection that he was making himself a martyr for Morgianna's sake could have induced the officer to take the torches and wade to the low bushes, where he was instructed to make a light and wait until his companion rowed around the island and drove the ducks in great flocks to the light, which he assured the Briton would attract them, and they would fall at his feet as if begging to be bagged.

Slowly the officer waded through the dismal marsh to the higher land, where grew the low bushes, and by the use of his tinder box kindled a light and, wrapping his boat cloak about him, sat down on a broken mast, which some storm had driven to the highest part of the island.

The minutes passed on, and neither the Irishman nor the expected flock of birds came. Minutes grew into hours, and only the sobbing waves and melancholy cries of birds broke the silence. Surely something had happened to his companion. About midnight a dense fog settled over the island, and the alarm and discomfiture of the Englishman became supreme. At one moment he was cursing Terrence, and the next offering prayer for his soul. Never did man pass a more dreary night.

At last dawn came, and he could see, far across the water, his ship but a speck in the distance. It was to sail that forenoon, and he intended to call on Morgianna and propose; but here he was on this infernal island, hungry, damp and miserable. He knew the vessel would pass near enough for him to hail it and have a boat sent for him; but then he would miss his intended visit to Captain Lane's, and his future happiness depended on that visit.

While he was indulging in these bitter reflections, a schooner suddenly flew past the island, and, to his amazement, he saw the Irish student, Terrence Malone, whom he had been alternately praying for and cursing all night, standing on the deck apparently in the best of health and spirits. The scoundrel even had the audacity to wave him an adieu as he passed.