'I have respectfully to entreat Miss Conway's acceptance of the accompanying trifling memorial of an incident which must have turned out a terrible tragedy to me, but for her noble bravery. So poor a jewel cannot possibly express the sensations which accompany it. 'WALTER JACKMAN.' By the time this letter was written, the jeweller had packed the bracelet. 'Address it,' said the captain, and he gave the address. This done, he exclaimed, 'Have you got a messenger you can trust?' 'I have my son, sir.' The son was working upstairs. In a few minutes he was on his way to the home of the Conways, with the beautiful gift and letter in his pocket, whilst Captain Jackman, bestowing a farewell nod on the jeweller, stepped forth to take a view of the town, and to see what the little harbour was like. CHAPTER III. THE DINNER. Captain Jackman walked down the steep street watched by the jeweller and a hairdresser who had stepped from opposite when the captain marched off. 'A few of him would open these cliffs and let in more houses and people. God bless me! I never thought to sell it, and _yet_ he's got a bargain.' 'What's the article?' inquired the hairdresser. 'A bracelet. It's cost him forty-five guineas. I believe he'd have given a hundred for it.' 'What is he, do you think?' 'A sailor, I should say.' 'Did he pay cash?' 'Bright cash.' And the jeweller, half-closing one eye, pulled out a handful of glittering sovereigns, at which the hairdresser gazed with admiration. 'Perhaps he's the gent that got himself lost in the Devil's Walk,' said the hairdresser. The jeweller smote his thigh and cried, 'That's it! And the bracelet's gone to Miss Conway.' Captain Jackman disappeared from their gaze. He turned the corner of the long gap, which was scarcely made a street of by the row of houses on top, and found on the right a short wooden wharf about whose piles the seas were toiling. A number of fine fishing-boats lay off this wharf, and rode the rolling comber with perfect grace to their anchors. Westward, beyond this wharf, was a sort of natural harbour; but it was evident that the place was only used by the men for convenience, and that they landed their catches in other harbours. 'Well, what's doing here?' said Captain Jackman to a tall, powerfully built seaman in the rough dress, heavy boots, belt, and hanging cap of those times. 'There we are,' said the man, pointing to the smacks rolling broadside on to the wharf. 'But do you fish in this part?' said the captain. The strong man, with a face put together in pieces like masses of putty, answered-- 'We fish where we think there is anything to be caught.' 'What's the smuggler doing down here now?' 'Oh, they're all gone away to the east'ard!' answered the man, with a note of indifference.