The steamer made a short job of the _Spitfire_; but a very little manoeuvring with the propeller was needful; a line connected the two vessels; the yacht's boat returned with the boy Bobby, leaving three of the steamer's crew in the dandy; the engine-room bell sounded, immediately was felt the thrilling of the engines in motion, and presently the _Mermaid_ was ripping through it once more with the poor little dismasted _Spitfire_ dead in her wake. I sent for the boy, and praised him warmly for his manly behaviour in sticking to Caudel. Captain Verrion then told them both to go below and get some hot tea, and put on dry clothing belonging to them, that had been brought from the dandy. "I'm thinking, sir," said he, when Caudel and the other had left, "that I can't do better than run you into Mount's Bay. I never was at Penzance, but I believe there's a bit of a harbour there, and no doubt a repairing slipway, and I understood that Penzance was your destination all along." I assured him that he would be adding immeasurably to his kindness, by doing as he proposed, "but as to the _Spitfire_," I continued, "I sha'n't spend a farthing upon her. My intention is to sell her, and divide what she will fetch amongst those who have preserved her. I have had more of the _Spitfire_ than I want, Captain Verrion, and though I am glad to know that she is towing astern, I protest--assuming the safety of her crew assured--that it would not have caused me a pang to learn she had gone to the bottom." "Well, sir, we'll head for Mount's Bay then. It will be a saving of some few hours of sea anyway for the lady," and with that he trudged forward. From the shelter of the companion hatch we could just catch a view over the steamer's taffrail of the _Spitfire_ as she came sliding after us to the pull of the tow-rope. With linked arms Grace and I stood looking at her. The air was darkening to the descent of the evening shadow, the rain poured continuously; but the wind was gone. The sea undulated in an oil-like surface, and the rain as it fell pitted the water with black points, as of ink. The melancholy of the scene was unspeakably heightened by that detail of mutilated, dismasted yacht astern, and by the tragic significance she gathered for us as we stood looking, recalling the night of the elopement, our stealthy floating out of Boulogne harbour, the gale that had nearly foundered us, and our escape that might well seem miraculous to our land-going eyes as we noticed her littleness and her present helplessness, and remembered the height of the seas which ran, and the hurricane weight of storm which she had survived.