The whole night long the pirates worked hard, doing what we could not see, neither could our captain at all understand their conduct. "If it was not too good to be true, they have been chased," said he, "and have come into harbour to hide. Did anyone look over the sea?" he continued. No, we had all been too much engaged.

Captain.—"Then the first thing I shall do on the dawn will be to scan the sea. Something unusual must have occurred to put the pirates to all this pother."

With the first streak of day came the pirate captain with his flag of truce, and again made his offers of peace, friendship, and civility, and again met with a vehement negative, though most forlorn were now our hopes and fortunes. To our surprise we now only saw La Luna. There was not a vestige of the pirate ship.

The pirate king had now recourse to threats, which we heard in disdainful silence. After spending half an hour in oaths and threats, he waved his hand, and, stamping with anger, pointed to La Luna. "I give you one hour," he cried, "if by that time you do not come down voluntarily, I intend sweeping the top of your rock with those two guns." We looked towards the vessel; she had been brought within gun shot, and her brass cannons were placed directly before us. "I know," continued the pirate, "who you all are, and I have no wish to harm you, but rather to gain the rewards offered for your recovery. Be persuaded and be reasonable."

Mother.—"Captain, what do you think, what shall we do, he speaks fair?"

Captain.—"Madam, we must not trust him. I feel sure they have some reason for this bustle and activity all night, and I feel persuaded they have scuttled their ship and sunk her. Look round, and you will see that when they retire into the caverns, there is not a trace of human beings about save our own vessel, and that looks weather-beaten and old enough to have been riding at anchor there for ages. No doubt they have concealed all traces of themselves in her. If they get us down they will use us as hostages for their own safety, or they may murder us at once, and thus leave no one to tell the tale of the caverns. As long as we are alive that secret cannot be kept, and, having made a settlement here, I think there is every probability that they will commit any crime sooner than suffer such a convenient and suitable stronghold for them to be discovered. I trust them not, let us trust in God."

Mother.—"And you, Schillie, tell me what do you advise?"

Schillie rose up, and drawing me to the highest part of the rock, turned her broad white forehead to the ship, while her clear eyes, darkened in their beauty by the emotions of the hour, looked steadily down into the mouths of the guns.

Schillie.—"June, do you believe that the spirits of the departed know what occurs on earth, and with unseen forms can visit those they love?"

June.—"I hold some such doctrine, my Schillie, but whether there is truth in it or not, the departed alone can tell."

Schillie.—"I'll put faith in your doctrine, my mistress, and think that in an hour I may behold my children, though unseen by them."

June.—"And is it this feeling that makes you gaze so boldly into the jaws that are so shortly to breathe forth death to us?"

Schillie.—"It may be so, or it may be the strength given from on high for such emergencies as these. In this awful hour I feel no fear; a sacred calm is filling my heart. My God, I feel Thou art near; Thou knowest this is not presumption that I bow me in humility before Thy throne, that I approach it under the shadow of my Saviour's wing."

I gazed in her face, flushed with ardour, refulgent with her inspired feelings, and thought her half way to heaven already.

June.—"My Schillie, ere you go, take my thanks take my heartfelt gratitude with you for all you have been to me."

Schillie.—"We go together, June, we shall not be separated in the happy pasture fields of our immortal shepherd. You will come with me to gaze on my children, and whisper holy dreams of goodness and truth into their childish ears to prepare them for the burdens of life, such as we have gone through. Our fates in life were thrown together, and the last act of mercy received from our gracious Father is this, that we die together."

June.—"But with my mortal lips and mortal heart receive my thanks, for, without you, what should I have done? Without your brave heart and good spirit to help me I must have given way. Without your hopeful, strong, and Godly mind I, guilty of ungrateful murmurs, should have forfeited the right of comfort from on high. Ah! my Schillie, take my thanks, for next to my Father, Saviour, God in heaven, what do I not owe to you?"

Schillie.—"Enough, enough, we give and take in this world. Our obligations to each other are mutual. We have an eternity before us to settle the debt between us. Our time on earth draws to a close. It is fit we prepare the young and weak for the fate they seem hardly to realize."

June.—"I shrink from them. Oh, my Schillie, do me a last act of kindness, and keep them from my sight."

Schillie.—"Nay, rouse yourself, and remember you take all you love with you."

June.—"But such a death! and they so young, so beloved, so lovely and gifted, to die in so horrible a manner."

Schillie.—"Then think of the fate you would have them live for. But one hour of mental agony, and they are safe in their Saviour's arms."

June.—"And, oh, Schillie, one more horrible fear I have. Suppose those dreadful guns do not fully complete their dreadful work. Think if some are left, wounded and maimed, yet more wounded in heart at the death of those they loved."

Schillie.—"Call them, and give each their choice."

They came, but it was only to group themselves in one close embrace about us. They replied not to the words we uttered, but looking as fearlessly as Schillie did down on the brazen mouths of death, they turned their loving eyes in unutterable affection towards us. The beaming light of Schillie's countenance seemed reflected on each young face, until we thought an halo of glory already surrounded them.

The two men tenderly lifted up Madame, and laid her moaning and unconscious at our feet, and then placed themselves on each side of the group.

"See," said Schillie, half smiling and waving her hand, "your last fear is groundless, it will take but one of those cannon to deliver us all at the same moment from this mortal coil. Let us lift up our hearts to God."