"We took a lady and a gentleman off their yacht, the _Spitfire_, that we found in a leaky condition yesterday," shouted Parsons, "having been dismasted in a gale and blown out of the Channel. We have them aboard. Will you receive them and set them ashore?" "How many more besides them, sir?" bawled the master of the yacht. "No more--them two only," and Parsons pointed to Grace and me, who stood conspicuous, near the main rigging. "Ay, ay, sir; we'll receive 'em. Will you send your boat?" Captain Parsons flourished his hand in token of acquiescence; but he stood near enough to enable me to catch a few growling sentences, referring to the laziness of yachtsmen, which he hove at the twinkling figure through his teeth in language which certainly did not accord with his priestly tendencies. There was no luggage to pack, no parcels to hunt for, nothing for me to do but leave Grace a minute, whilst I rushed below to fee the stewards. So much confusion attended our transference that my recollection of what took place is vague. I remember that the second mate was incessantly shouting out orders, until one of the ship's quarter boats, with several men in her, had been fairly lowered to the water's edge, and brought to the gangway, over which some steps had been thrown. I also remember once again shaking Captain Parsons most cordially by the hand, thanking him effusively for his kindness and wishing him and his ship all possible good-luck under the heavens. The passengers crowded round us and wished us good-bye, and I saw Mrs. Barstow slip a little parcel into Grace's hand, and whisper a few words; whereupon they kissed each other with the warmth of old friends. Mr. M'Cosh stood at the gangway, and I asked him to distribute the twenty-pound bank note I handed to him amongst the crew of the boat that had taken us from the _Spitfire_; I further requested that the second mate, taking his proportion which I left entirely to the discretion of Mr. M'Cosh, would purchase some trifle of pin or ring by which to remember us.