Mr. Turton lent me the newspaper in which he had read the account of the wreck of the Seagull, and upstairs, in the room which I shared with two other fellows, I sat down on my bed to master it.

It appeared that the skipper of the vessel, with seven of the crew, had been landed by a British cargo steamer at Hobart Town, Tasmania. The Westward Ho! had picked them up in a small boat about seven days out from Capetown.

According to the story of the Seagull's skipper—Captain Wilkinson—she had experienced extremely bad weather for some days, and, becoming almost unmanageable, had been run down by a large liner in the middle of a dark night at the height of the gale.

Whether the liner was British or foreign, Captain Wilkinson could not state; but, in any case, she had continued on her way without attempting to stand by to save life. The Seagull foundered in less than ten minutes, Captain Knowlton persisting in his refusal to leave in the first, and—as Captain Wilkinson declared—the only, boat which got away. He had done his utmost to stand by, in spite of the fury of the gale; but when day broke, and the storm to some degree abated, there was no sign of either Captain Knowlton or the Seagull. That she had foundered with the remainder of the crew and her owner the skipper had not the slightest doubt, although he went as far as to admit, to the newspaper reporter, the possibility that the small boat in which he had escaped might have drifted some distance from the scene of the wreck in the darkness.

My only gleam of hope was due to Mr. Bosanquet, although I felt inclined to discount this, because he was given to look at the brightest side of things, and often predicted fine weather just before a storm.

'Still,' he urged, 'you do not know for certain that Captain Knowlton was drowned. I admit there is a great probability that you will never see him again, but, after all, it is quite within the bounds of possibility that the skipper's boat drifted away, and that the owner and the rest of the crew managed to leave the Seagull. Of course,' he added, 'if I am right, you are pretty certain to hear something farther in a week or two.'

Accordingly I lived in the most acute suspense during the next few days; but the time passed without news of Captain Knowlton, and such faint hope as I had cherished faded entirely away. In the meantime it seemed evident that Mr. and Mrs. Turton had not shared it. I learned from Augustus that his father had written to Mr. Windlesham, asking that I might be removed from Ascot House as a bad bargain.

Moreover, I began to observe a kind of resentfulness in Mr. Turton's demeanour, and especially in his wife's. It was rumoured in the school that they were 'hard up,' and hence the shorter supplies of meat and butter. But it was Augustus who first made me realise my new situation.

'I say, Everard,' he said, when we were alone one day, 'I should not care to stand in your shoes. Now Captain Knowlton is dead you cannot stay here, you know.'

'Well,' I answered, 'who wants to stay? I am going to Sandhurst soon.'

'I guess you are not, though!' he exclaimed. 'There is no one to pay for you, and Windlesham is mean enough to say he won't take you off our hands.'

The entrance of Mr. Bosanquet put an end to Augustus's gloomy forecast of my future, and, as the assistant master seemed to be the best friend I had left, I asked his opinion on the subject.

'Of course,' he said, taking my arm, 'it is a rather difficult position. If Captain Knowlton has left a will with a legacy to you, there need not be much difference; but Mr. Turton is of opinion that if this were the case, he would have heard from the solicitor. Mr. Turton is a good deal perplexed to know what to do with you, though we will hope for the best, in spite of everything.'

Now, I was fifteen, and fairly tall and strong for my age. I could easily perceive the difficulties at which Mr. Bosanquet hinted, and that, if Captain Knowlton were actually dead, and had left me nothing in his will, there was only Aunt Marion to whom it was possible to look for help; and she had taken no notice of me since her wedding-day. I was ignorant of her address in India, and felt that I should be little better off even if I knew it. So, after a few days' reflection, I determined to speak to Mr. Turton.

'Well, Everard, what is it now?' he demanded, a little impatiently, as I entered his study.

'I want to know about the holidays,' I answered. 'Where am I to go?'

'Just what I should like to be in a position to tell you,' he exclaimed. 'At present I have been unable to discover the name and address of Captain Knowlton's solicitor, but, when I go to London with the boys at the end of the term, I shall do my best to gain farther information. We will put off the discussion until my return.'

It was, however, impossible to keep the question of my future in the background, and no day passed without many speculations. Numerous out-of-the-way projects had one peculiarity in common—they were all to end satisfactorily. Even if I were fated to endure certain trials and hardships, I felt perfectly confident in my ability to rise above them eventually.

The first important difference which I experienced as a result of the loss of the Seagull occurred on the Saturday after this interview with Mr. Turton. It was the custom to go to Mrs. Turton after dinner on Saturday for our pocket-money; my own allowance since Captain Knowlton's departure having been a shilling a week.

'What do you want, Everard?' asked Mrs. Turton, when my turn came.

'My shilling, please,' I answered.

But she ominously shook her head.

'I am afraid there will not be any more pocket-money for you this term!' she exclaimed—and, suddenly understanding, I walked dejectedly away. Before I had gone many yards Smythe took my arm.

'I can lend you fourpence, old chap,' he said.

'Awful ass if you do,' cried Augustus, who had a knack of overhearing what was not intended for his ears.

'Why am I an ass?' demanded Smythe.

'Because Everard will never pay you back.'

'Suppose I don't want him to pay me back?'

'Oh, well!' said Augustus, 'of course, if he is beggar enough to take your money!'

I should have liked to kick Augustus as he walked away with a snigger; but at least he had made it impossible to take advantage of Smythe's offer. It was a new and painful experience to stay outside the confectioner's shop while the other fellows entered, and the matter was freely discussed in my presence by Smythe and the rest on our return. Indeed, justice compelled me to agree with Barton's opinion that, as Turton stood uncommonly little chance of being paid for the current term's board and tuition, it was scarcely to be expected that he should feel inclined to provide me with additional pocket-money.

CHAPTER IV.

The end of the term soon came, and on the last afternoon I stood listening while Smythe, Barton, and the rest of the fellows boasted of all the wonderful things they intended to do during the holidays.

'I should not care to stand in Everard's shoes,' said Augustus. 'As likely as not he will have to go to the workhouse before he has done. He will see when my father comes back from London.'

Before they all set out to the railway station the next morning, Mr. Bosanquet took me apart for a last word of hope and encouragement. He was not to return to Ascot House after the holidays, and for my part I felt extremely sorry to bid him good-bye.

'I feel confident Mr. Turton will do his best for you,' he said. 'But you must try to make allowances if he seems a little put out. He is not by any means a rich man, and, of course, he had to pay Mr. Windlesham for the goodwill of the school. Mr. Turton will feel the loss of your bill, you understand—that is to say, if Captain Knowlton does not turn up again.'

'If he had been rescued,' I asked, 'don't you think we should have heard news of him before now?'

'Well, in all probability we should,' said Mr. Bosanquet. 'But strange things happen sometimes, you know; and, after all, I do not consider it impossible that he may be stranded somewhere, and prevented from communicating with his friends.'

'Still,' I answered, 'all the newspapers and Mr. Turton say he must be dead.'

'Anyhow,' he insisted, 'there is no positive proof, and even at the worst his solicitor may be able to satisfy Mr. Turton about your future.'

(Continued on page 26.)