The boat made three trips, bringing off, with the aid of the hawser, all but the sailors she had seen perish before her own eyes. The passengers,--they were few,--the captain and officers, found refuge in her father's house, and were loud in their praises of Sol. Catlin. But in that grateful chorus a single gloomy voice arose, the voice of a wealthy and troubled passenger. “I will give,” he said, “five thousand dollars to the man who brings me a box of securities I left in my stateroom.” Every eye turned instinctively to Sol.; he answered only those of Jenny's. “Say ten thousand, and if the dod-blasted hulk holds together two hours longer I'll do it, d--n me! You hear me! My name's Sol. Catlin, and when I say a thing, by G-d, I do it.” Jenny's disgust here reached its climax. The hero of a night of undoubted energy and courage had blotted it out in a single moment of native vanity and vulgar avarice. He was gone; not only two hours, but daylight had come and they were eagerly seeking him, when he returned among them, dripping and--empty-handed. He had reached the ship, he said, with another; found the box, and trusted himself alone with it to the sea. But in the surf he had to abandon it to save himself. It had perhaps drifted ashore, and might be found; for himself, he abandoned his claim to the reward. Had he looked abashed or mortified, Jenny felt that she might have relented, but the braggart was as all-satisfied, as confident and boastful as ever. Nevertheless, as his eye seemed to seek hers, she was constrained, in mere politeness, to add her own to her father's condolences. “I suppose,” she hesitated, in passing him, “that this is a mere nothing to you after all that you did last night that was really great and unselfish.” “Were you never disappointed, Miss?” he said, with exasperating abruptness. A quick consciousness of her own thankless labor on the galleon, and a terrible idea that he might have some suspicion of, and perhaps the least suggestion that she might have been disappointed in him, brought a faint color to her cheek. But she replied with dignity:-- “I really couldn't say. But certainly,” she added, with a new-found pertness, “you don't look it.” “Nor do you, Miss,” was his idiotic answer. A few hours later, alarmed at what she had heard of the inroads of the sea, which had risen higher than ever known to the oldest settler, and perhaps mindful of yesterday's footprints, she sought her old secluded haunt. The wreck was still there, but the sea had reached it. The excavation between its gaunt ribs was filled with drift and the seaweed carried there by the surges and entrapped in its meshes. And there, too, caught as in a net, lay the wooden box of securities Sol. Catlin had abandoned to the sea.