My old friends sat in London to-night with lights and cheer. The old Mermaid Inn rang with song and jest as they passed the cup, and smoked the fragrant weed that had been brought back from the golden Virginia. I could almost hear the hoarse tones of Francis Drake as he spun out some long-winded yarn; could hear the deep-chested laugh of Raleigh; and the yell ring out as Bobby Vane struck up some light-hearted ditty, and the others with a roar joined the chorus. Theirs was a pleasant, easy way, smooth to the foot, bright with the garlands of flowers and the companionship of their fellows; mine was a solitary, lonely road, rough and stormy, with no friend to help or aid me. I must walk high up above the crowd, walk as best I might, this untrod path until morn. So be it. I would not murmur at what fate held in store for me. Come what might, I would at least play my part with what courage I possessed. A slight sound seemed to come from the darkness about me. I bent forward and listened. Someone was evidently approaching, making his way toward the mansion. I could hear the quick crunch of the sand under the advancing feet, though the night had grown inky black and I could distinguish no figure in the gloom. Throwing myself flat upon the sand, I waited for the coming traveler. The sound came nearer and passed where I lay, invisible in the night. Just as it moved swiftly by, there was a blinding flash of lightning, illuminating the darkness with dazzling brilliancy, and throwing into relief the stout form of Father Francis, as with head bent down to avoid the force of the wind, he stood motionless, his back to me, waiting for the crash of the thunder to die away. What was the priest doing here, at this time of night and in such a gale? It must be something of importance that called him forth, for he loved his own ease too well to sally out in the storm and tempest without good cause. Like a flash I sprang to my feet, drawing my sword as I did so; and as he stood there motionless, before he could turn, I was upon him. Catching the weapon by the blade, I brought the heavy hilt upon his head, and with a dull thud, he fell to the ground. Kneeling beside him, I ran my hand over his garments as he lay there. Perhaps he had some paper or message that he was carrying, which would be of use, could I but discover it. Ah! I touched a square oblong package in the folds of his cassock, and running my hand on the inside, I drew it out. They were papers most probably, tied up securely, with a fold of canvass around them. Was there aught else there? I searched thoroughly, but could find nothing further, though I felt over every inch of his robe.