But not a minute did I stay there. We must be up and doing. Despair made us calm and cool. Everything seemed to depend on our judgment and caution. How my heart was wrung with those cries. Poor Sybil, the dear child seemed frantic, almost beside herself; she became resolute, almost fierce; she seemed ready to dare the whole band. But they are carrying them off. Can we resist flying after them? Yes, we must, we must. They are going to take them down the cliffs. But where is Oscar? He is not among them. They go. Now then, now is our time; we must get quickly down, and run to the waterfall to see what is done to our heart's treasures. We got down safely. As we emerge, one by one, we hear a slight sound, and, looking round, perceive Otty hiding in the brushwood. Being a quick sharp boy, he had seen the pirates in a minute, and, falling down among the bushes, had escaped notice.

I clasped him in my arms, Gatty seized his bundle. We rushed into the cavern, and told our tale; not that Sybil stopped or stayed, she made her way to the waterfall at once, and arrived long before she could see them coming down the cliffs. But the ever-provident Gatty, calling on the little girls, ran out, and collected the dearly-bought food; and, taking the little girls, she went boldly to the gardens, and between them they brought in a plentiful supply of everything. She knew she could not help them, neither could we watchers. Night came on, and left us in despair and darkness.

Poor Sybil! the morning sun showed her in despair. We could not recognise the soft smiling girl in the wild, excited, agitated being before us. What were we to do? What could we do? We were ready to do anything. We came to one agreement, that separated we would not be. If we could not rescue them, we should join them in their captivity. Now all the men collect together; we see nothing of their prisoners, but imagine that they are on board the ship. We count twenty-two, the number of all we had seen. They talk earnestly. Eight go on board, and, after some bustle, return with the boat laden with empty casks. These are rolled by the rest to the stream. Now all day the whole party fill the casks, roll them back, and take them on board; they don't rest one hour. We must do something. "Then," said Madame, "let me go out boldly among them. I will find out what they mean to do. They may take me prisoner; but, old and grey-headed, it is more likely they may not think it worth while. I will write what I find out, and put it under a stone near the old tent, if they don't allow me to return." So Madame goes, taking care to appear from quite a different side to our entrance. They surround her, she is bound to a tree, and they proceed with their watering. At last it seems done, and they all appear tired and exhausted, having worked hard, without food or rest, for eight hours. A consultation is held about Madame, and finally she is left loose and unbound, while they all run eagerly to the place where the meal is now being prepared for them. She watches her opportunity, and gradually steals up the cliff; when near the top, she is overtaken, and brought back. Dear old lady, what incredible exertions had she made; we had watched her scrambling up spots we knew she almost fainted to look at. But that was nothing to her dauntless courage and energy. When they were all safe at their meal, Gatty ran from the upper opening to the top of the cliff, from whence they had taken her back, and, sure enough, under a stone, close by which she had dropped her handkerchief, we found a note.

This told us that the pirates intended sailing the next morning, that they were delighted at having made these prisoners, that they had done them no harm at present, but, being on board the ship, they certainly intended carrying them off, that all the men intended sleeping on shore but two, that Madame, if kept a prisoner, would stay near the boat, and bear a light to direct us to it in case we thought we could rescue them. (Of course we could and would rescue them, who doubted it?) The rest she would leave to us, she could advise nothing. "Glorious," said Gatty, "now we have something to do. Would that night was come."

Mother.—"Now here is something to amuse us until night comes on. Suppose we write as many letters as we can, and when we go on board for the dear prisoners, let us leave them there. If these people are real pirates, their vessel may be captured, and our letters found and forwarded by the vessel that takes them. And even if no such event happens, and they are not pirates, compassion may make them forward them to their proper destination by some ship or opportunity."

A capital notion, and we proceeded to put it into execution, and altogether accomplished about a dozen letters, each directed to different members of our beloved family. All being ready, the darkness impenetrable, we looked out and saw two lights burning. One we supposed to be the ship light, the other Madame's, which she was to light when all were asleep. With the utmost expedition, but the greatest caution and silence, we slid down the rocks in a different direction from the lights, that no rolling stone or slipping feet might be heard. Once on the sand, our noiseless feet flew, as well as they could consistent with the caution necessary in such darkness, and the way in which a bright light, under such circumstances, deceives you. We kept by the moving waves in part to guide us. We came to the bathing place. Now we must creep on our hands and knees, we are so near. We touch Madame—happiness inexpressible. Silently, Gatty, Oscar, and I creep into the boat; we tie handkerchiefs and towels round the two oars; nevertheless, what a noise we make, but we are very nearly reckless. Madame wraps her arms round Sybil, lest her impatience should make her throw herself into the water, in her wish to get to her second self. Now we touch the ship. Gatty and I are on deck like cats. We have taken off our shoes that our footsteps may not be heard. Otty keeps to the boat. We creep to the lamp and get a light, and then go down stairs. We try a door, but it is locked. Gatty goes back to Otty, and tells him to move under the cabin windows, to see if he can find them out there. I try to push some of my long hair through the key-hole to attract their attention, but the key is in. I then thrust some letters under the door. I hear their voices, but am just frantic at not being able to make them hear, but Oscar has. It is all right; they know him, and speak to him. I hear Schillie say, "Where is June?" How can we be so rash, and make such a noise. I can only account for their not hearing us by the fact that they were completely knocked up with the heat and work of the day, and had no idea there were any more people on the island; and, as the boat was on shore, their prisoners could not escape by themselves; so that in all security they sleep profoundly. Now then, at last, the door opens, and we see them, but not a word is spoken, and, merely squeezing our fingers, they pass out. I hide the letters in different parts of the cabin, and, finding them all ready in the boat, we push off, and in a few minutes, guided by the friendly light, Serena is in Sybil's arms. They hurry off the same way we came, only treading in the waves that their footsteps may not be traced. I remain behind but to fasten up the boat in the same way we found it; and then, after some difficulty, many falls, and constant losing our way, owing to the darkness, we hear the welcome sounds of the waterfall. Heedless of a wetting, we rush in, we are safe, we are in the cavern, and then what a scene takes place. But no pen can describe it. Mine cannot.