For several moments the man continued staring at the empty box, wholly unable to account for the singular discovery.

Then he sat down and ruminated. No living soul aboard the vessel had known of his possessing the box, therefore he was certain that the money could not have been extracted after he obtained it.

The only inference was that the money was not in the box when he took it.

Where then was it?

Vainly the man puzzled his brains: he could arrive at no definite conclusion.

Weeks passed.

Manton's chest must by this time, have been received and opened by his daughter. Brand had seen several of the ship's officers, but it was evident they had not heard of Manton's daughter missing anything from the chest.

Brand, therefore, breathed easy on this score, believing that, after all, the passenger had not written a word to his daughter about the box.

Two weeks later, by recommendation of Captain Roberts, who had found Brand to be an excellent seaman, the latter obtained command of a ship called the Quadrant, bound to Australia and the East Indies.

While Brand was preparing his vessel for sea, he had a visit from the owner.

"Captain," said the latter, "you will cruise awhile off the islands, in the neighborhood of Australia, and visit some of them before going into Sydney."

"What for?" inquired Brand.

The order had really been an unpleasant one to him, as if brought afresh to his imagination, the drowned body of his victim, Mr. Manton, floating about on the water.

"Because," answered the owner, "the daughter of that passenger aboard the Maxwell, Mr. Manton, cannot be persuaded that her father was really lost. She is anxious to investigate the matter; to search all the islands she can, especially that one upon which was seen the volcano!"

Objections rose to Brand's white lips; but he dared not give them utterance, fearful of exciting suspicion.

"The lady," continued the owner, "will be accompanied by a young man—her affianced, who has been in the United States navy, and is a good sailor, from whom, in case of emergency, you may derive assistance. He is one of my clerks; a worthy young man, whom I hope you will treat with all due courtesy."

"Ay, ay, sir," answered Brand, who could be pleasant enough when he chose.

Next day he went about shipping his crew, among whom was old Tom Turk.

Brand admired the latter's skill in seamanship, and this was his only reason for taking him, as in every other respect he disliked him.

The vessel ready a fortnight later, got under weigh, and was soon plunging her bows into the dark waters of the Atlantic.

On the quarter deck, by the side of Mary Manton, stood Harry Granville, her lover, endeavoring to cheer her spirits, which had drooped ever since the fearful news of her father's disappearance from the Maxwell.

Brand, superintending the work aboard the vessel, watched the lovers askance. The presence of the daughter of the very man he had pushed overboard, made him feel uneasy.

Every time he encountered the great, earnest blue eyes, it seemed to him as if they could see, away down into his soul, the dark secret he intended to carry with him to his grave!

Favored by fair winds the vessel, in a few months arrived in the latitude where the tragedy had taken place.

"Here is where the passenger fell overboard!" said Brand, addressing Harry Grenville, one evening, just after sundown.

The young man went into the cabin, whence he soon reappeared with Mary, whose eyes were suffused with tears, while she gazed earnestly upon the water, as if there hoping to see the form of her parent reappear.

Brand, walking his quarter-deck, kept his eyes steadily averted from her face.

Gradually darkness stole round the vessel, when, far ahead, a bright, lurid light broke upon the vision of Mary Manton.

"What is that?" she inquired of her lover.

He informed her that it was a volcano.

"Then that is the volcanic island where we are to search," said Mary.

"Yes," answered Harry, "but you must not hope to discover anything. From this point no man could hardly hope to swim to that island."

Mary sighed heavily.

At the same moment, she noticed that her lover's head was inclined sideways.

She was then sensible of a distant humming, roaring noise, growing louder and louder!

"It is the volcano, is it not?" she inquired.

"No," answered Harry, "it is a storm coming up."

He sprang to the companion and glanced at the barometer, which, however, for some reason, had fallen but little.

"The instrument must be out of repair," said Harry.

Then he stepped to the captain's side, and questioned him when he was informed that the barometer was injured.

"I need no such toy," continued Brand, "to tell me when a storm is a-comin' up! I've heard the wind pipe too often for that."

"We are going to have a hard blow, pretty soon," said Harry—"don't you hear?"

"That's the volcano, youngster!" answered Brand gruffly.

"You are mistaken."

"Peers I know my business!"

"I am sure it is the gale we hear. You would do well to take in sail."

"I hope I'm master abroad my own craft," said Brand, sneering.

"We will leave it to some of your oldest seaman," said Glenville, wishing to avoid a quarrel, if possible.

Several of the old tars, among them Turk, were called up. They agreed with Glenville.

"I've heerd the roarin' of a volcanic, before now," said Turk, "which, beggin' pardon, sir, is no more like a gale a-comin' up than this is like the thump of a handspike," taking out his quid and throwing it violently to the deck.

Brand, however, skillful seaman though he was, refused to be convinced, until suddenly he beheld driving down upon him from windward, a long line of white water, showing like a wall through the gloom.

Then the unmistakable notes of the tempest were heard by all aboard.

"Go below," said Harry to his fair companion.

She obeyed trembling; at the same moment, with a whis and a rush, the storm was heard sweeping along towards the vessel.

"Hands! by halliards! clew up everything lively there! Mind tacks and sheets," screamed Brand, in a voice like the scream of a wild beast.

Top-gallant sails, topsail, foresail and mainsail were soon clewed up, and the seamen's forms were distinctly seen running up through the gloom.

Too late! While the poor fellows were yet upon the yards, the storm, with the din of a thousand furies, struck the devoted ship.

At first nothing could be seen or heard, save the rush and the roar of the tempest.

The spray shrouded the ship as in a white cloud, flying all round her, blinding and bewildering the men, while the roar of the sea, the creaking, snapping and straining of yards and masts, the creaking of the timbers, the cannon-like report of the sails, slatting all over the vessel, with the whipping about of ropes, tacks and sheets, created a din such as only the sailor, caught unawares in a storm, can realize.

Vainly Brand, claining to a rope near the mizzenmast, endeavored to make himself heard; his voice was as a mere whisper in contrast with the shrieking and howling of the storm.

Meanwhile far down, with her rail buried, the ship tore away through the mad waters, swift as a thunderbolt, pitching meanwhile with a violence which threw several men off the yard into the white and black mist of spray and storm, bubbling, boiling and rolling beneath.

Harry Glenville had sprung aloft to cheer and encourage the men.

Vainly endeavoring to make himself heard, he was suddenly thrown from his position, and must have gone overboard but for his catching the backstay and by this reaching the deck.

No need now of men to pull the sails. With a sharp tearing sound, like the blasts from a thousand bass trumpets, every strip of canvass aboard the vessel was torn to shreds and carried far off into the rack and scud.

Soon after there was a crash, when down came the fore and main topmasts, falling over the side, and dragging the ship down, so that half of her decks were buried, while the seas continually broke over the other part.

In a few minutes Brand, with the help of his speaking trumpet, was enabled to make himself heard by shrieking into the very ears of the men.

"Clear the wreck!" was his first order, which Tom Turk at once sprang to obey, axe in hand.

Harry Glenville, similarly provided, was at the side of the old tar, to whom he had taken quite a fancy, and who he had reason to believe, appreciated and was glad of his notice.

The two soon gaining the wreck, went to work, having previously fastened ropes round their middles to prevent themselves from being washed overboard.

With a few blows they renewed the encumbrances, when the vessel partially righted.

The wind was now blowing a perfect tornado, keeping the spray down almost upon the surface of the sea, which was nearly as flat as a floor.

The ship also feeling this pressure, instead of now rolling and plunging, was forced down into the stormy sea almost to the middle of her bulwarks, while her bows were completely buried.

Harry had taken off the rope, and was about returning aft, when the water forward swept by an erratic movement of the ship, caught him and carried him from his feet!

Like a shot he was whirled over the bulwarks, when he caught a small, rotten piece of rope hanging from the shrouds.

Brand, who was not far off, might easily have saved him by springing and grasping his hand.

For reasons which may be imagined, he resolved to leave the man to his fate!

The rope being, as stated, a rotten one, broke!

"My God! he is gone!" shrieked the hypocritical captain.