Though I have not discovered the honour of my father, yet I shall return to my old home and take up my former life." The Major finished his tale. "Ye have had a wonderful life, Tom," said the pilot, "and I'll be right sorry to see you leave, but I have no doubt that Mr. Ande has a tale to tell?" He gazed questioningly at Ande Trembath. Ande, thus summoned, related the story of his life. The Helston Grammar School, the smugglers, and that long night with Dick on the waves of the channel, the rescue by an outward bound Brazilian ship, their adventures in Brazil, and their sojourn in Minos Geraes in the Sierra Do Frio district, were all successively dwelt on, but he mentioned not the wealth he had accumulated there. "Mr. Ande," said the pilot, after he had finished, "do ye ken aught of the metal box I handed up from the old excavation that night?" "The metal box? Why, it must be still in the pocket of my coat, that I have not worn since that eventful time." The Major entered the cabin and soon returned with the garment. The box was still there, from the bulging appearance of the exterior. "Father, take it out and examine it." The old Major did so. "Truly, an ancient specimen," said he, and then he started, for there on the one side was the engraved figure of a warrior galloping amidst ocean waves. He turned it over, and on the silver lid, in slightly worn characters, was the following: CAPTAIN ANDREW TREMBATH "'Tis the snuff-box of my father!" exclaimed the Major, trembling with excitement. "At last the secret of his latter life may be explained. God be thanked if it can!" The box was opened and, crowding around it, they examined the contents. A few papers, yellow with age, met their vision. The first was extracted, opened, and spread out. "A letter from thy grandmother to thy grandfather, son Ande," said the Major, and he read it with an agitated voice. The next, a small book, was taken out, and the Major turning to the fly leaf read, "The Diary of Captain Ande Trembath." The first part was a record of sundry things at home in the palmy days when Captain Ande Trembath was Squire of Trembath Manor, and the Major hurried over it, for he was interested in what was beyond. Toward the middle of the diary he paused, and began to read. "8th July, 1755. We are not more than twenty miles from Du Quesne, and in a day or so we will see the flag of our country planted on that fortress. So far no attempt has been made to hinder our march. The enemy must be demoralised." "Ah, Braddock and his soldiers had great confidence," said the Major; "but see here is a great blank of many days." He hurried over the blank pages and again paused and began to read.