“Well, I should call it a very remarkable swim, my lad, and I regard you as a phenomenal young sailor. We all owe you our lives, I feel assured, and I shall beg of the President a naval cadetship for you. We have raised a purse, which we ask you to accept, with our best wishes for your future success.” The dark face of Mark Merrill flushed as with shame, while he said, quickly: “Oh, sir, I cannot accept money from you, though I thank you all. I would not touch a dollar of money for what I did if I was starving, but I will appreciate your kind promise to make me a midshipman, and it seems too much to hope for, sir.” “I will not urge the acceptance of the purse, my brave boy, if you do not wish it, and I pledge you the appointment, and to-morrow morning we will call upon your mother, and tell her she must be content to give you up, as you will make a name she will be proud of.” “I thank you, sir, and good-night, for I must go, as mother is not well, and my long stay will worry her.” He bowed low, seeming not to see that all wished to shake hands with him, and left the cabin, General Peyton following, and calling out: “Captain, lower away a boat, and land our young pilot.” “Oh, sir, there’s no need of that, for I am all wet anyhow, and it’s a short swim ashore.” And before a hand could stay him the young pilot sprang upon the rail of the yacht and leaped head first into the dark waters of the little bay. The startled cry of General Peyton at the youth’s bold act brought Commodore Lucien, the Secretary, and others upon the deck in some alarm. “That fearless lad has leaped overboard and is swimming ashore, Mr. Secretary,” he explained. “Ahoy! ahoy! my lad!” shouted Commodore Lucien. “Ay, ay, sir!” came back in the clear voice of the young pilot. “Hail us when you reach shore, so we may know that you are all right!” called the commodore. “Ay, ay, sir.” “That boy is all right, Peyton, so there is no need of sending a boat after him,” the commodore said. “He’s half fish,” growled the captain of the yacht. Then all waited breathlessly, and soon came a faint hail: “Ahoy! the yacht!” “Ay, ay!” answered Commodore Lucien. “I’ve landed,” and the words were greeted with a cheer from all on the deck of the Midshipman. CHAPTER X. UNFATHOMED. “My God! can my son have gone out in the face of this terrible storm? It is the worst I have known upon the coast for years,” and Mrs. Merrill pressed her face against the window-glass, striving in vain to pierce the blackness without. No longer confined to her bed by illness, it could now be seen that she was a handsome woman, hardly more than thirty-five, and with the indelible stamp of refinement upon her. Her face wore a sad look, and no flush warmed the marble-like complexion. Her eyes were large and dreamy, seeming to be looking backward into a past clouded with bitter memory rather than lighted with hope for the future.