“Made me think all sorts of things with her mysteries,” said the dutiful Mr. Wheeler, in triumphant corroboration. “First of all she made me think you was dead; then I thought you was all dead—give me such a turn they ’ad to give me brandy to bring me round. When I found out it was only Jemmy’s finger, I was nearly off my ’ed with joy.” “I’ll go and tell her,” interrupted Mr. Bob Wheeler, delicately, using the inside edge of the table-cloth as a serviette. “I can do it better than Emma can. What she wants is comforting; Emma would go and snivel all over her.” Mrs. Wheeler, raising her head from the sofa, regarded the speaker with looks of tender admiration, and the young man, after a lengthy glance in the small pier-glass ornamented with coloured paper, which stood on the mantel-piece, walked to the door. “You needn’t trouble,” said Fraser, slowly; “I’m going to tell her.” Mrs. Wheeler’s dull eyes snapped sharply. “She’s our lodger,” she said, aggressively. “Yes, but I’m going to tell her,” rejoined the mate; “the skipper told me to.” A startled silence was broken by Mr. Wheeler’s chair, which fell noisily. “I mean,” stammered Fraser, meeting the perturbed gaze of the dock-foreman, “that he told me once if anything happened to him that I was to break the news to Miss Tyrell. It’s been such a shock to me I hardly know what I am saying.” “Yes, you’ll go and frighten her,” said Bob Wheeler, endeavouring to push past him. The mate blocked the doorway. “Are you going to try to prevent me going out of a room in my own house?” blustered the young man. “Of course not,” said Fraser, and, giving way, ascended the stairs before him. Mr. Wheeler, junior, after a moment’s hesitation, turned back and, muttering threats under his breath, returned to the parlour. Miss Tyrell, who was sitting by the window reading, rose upon the mate’s entrance, and, observing that he was alone, evinced a little surprise as she shook hands with him. It was the one thing necessary to complete his discomfiture, and he stood before her in a state of guilty confusion. “Cap’n Flower couldn’t come,” he stammered. The girl said nothing, but with her dark eyes fixed upon his flushed face waited for him to continue. “It’s his misfortune that he couldn’t come,” continued Fraser, jerkily. “Business, I suppose?” said the girl, after another wait. “Won’t you sit down?” “Bad business,” replied Fraser. He sat down, and fancied he saw the way clear before him. “You’ve left him on the _Foam_, I suppose?” said Poppy, seeing that she was expected to speak. “No; farther back than that,” was the response. “Seabridge?” queried the girl, with an air of indifference. Fraser regarded her with an expression of studied sadness. “Not so far back as that,” he said, softly. Miss Tyrell manifested a slight restlessness. “Is it a sort of riddle?” she demanded.