MY DEAREST LOVE—This is written with my left hand, as my right is yet in a sling. I wish I could say all that I want to; but as every moment is of value to you, I will simply keep to business. Take a postchaise home; get the money out of the cavern, and send it here. John Sargent the fisherman is to be trusted; let him come back with it in the postchaise. I will return it to the bank, making up out of my savings whatever difference there is from the original amount stolen. Lose no time, my darling, and God bless you!—Ever your affectionate HARRY. Bertha and the girl hurried away; and just as they entered the _Dolphin Inn_ to order the chaise, they espied Jasper Rodley entering the town watchhouse, the local headquarters of the civil force which in those days performed, or rather was supposed to perform, the duties of our modern constabulary. ‘Miss West,’ said the girl, ‘I had better remain in the town for the present. At what hour to-day is Jasper Rodley coming to your house?’ ‘I said I would be home by dark. He will be there before then, to receive my final answer.’ ‘Very well, then; I will be there about that time,’ continued the girl. ‘Will you not even tell me your name?’ asked Bertha. ‘Yes. My name is Patience Crowell. Till to-night, good-bye. Keep up your spirits; all will end well.’ In a few minutes the postchaise was ready, and in order to escape the notice of Jasper Rodley, was driven round to the town gate, where Bertha jumped in. She stopped at John Sargent’s cottage, and mentioned her errand. ‘Why,’ said the old fisherman, ‘I’m too glad to do anythin’ for Master Symonds. He saved my life once at Saint Quinians’ jetty, and I’ve never had no chance of doin’ suthin’ for him in return like.—Come along, miss; if it’s to the end of the world, come along!’ As Jasper Rodley might pass by at any moment, Bertha thought it best to keep the chaise out of sight, whilst she and the fisherman, provided with a large net-basket, proceeded to the cliffs. In half an hour’s time the bags of coin were safely stowed away in the postchaise; John Sargent jumped in, the chaise rattled off; and Bertha, with a light heart and a heightened colour, returned home. The captain was stumping up and down the little gravelled space in his garden, which from the presence there of half-a-dozen old cannon and a flagstaff, he delighted to call the Battery. When he beheld Bertha, he welcomed her with a sad smile, and putting her arm in his, said: ‘Bertha, lass, I’ve been thinking over this business ever since you went away this morning, and the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve called myself a mean, cowardly, selfish old fool.’ ‘Why, father?’