Mark’s father had been a wild, but not wicked, lad, and his mother had married a second time. The stepfather, Vance Vanloo, had treated the youth so cruelly, wishing to get rid of him so that his own son could get possession of his wife’s valuable estates, that the lad had run away to sea. He had the proper spirit in him, and had worked his way up from the forecastle to the command of a fine vessel, when he had fallen in love with a young girl who was crossing the ocean with her invalid father. The father had died, and was buried at sea, and the daughter, falling in love also with the handsome young captain, had married him. And she it was who afterward became Mark Merrill’s mother. But soon after little Mark reached his twelfth year the father was lost at sea, and his wife was left destitute, for, as sorrows never come singly, what they had saved up in bank was wiped out by the failure of the bank. So it was that Mark, born upon the sea and reared upon his father’s vessel, turned his attention to the water to earn a living for himself and mother. They had sought the coast of Maine, near B----, and afterward became dwellers, by the kindness of the agent, in the grand old mansion known as Spook Hall. But, better still, an inquiring attorney had sought out the heirs of the estate, and of other large property coming to them, and found them in Mrs. Merrill and her son. So the Vanloo mansion, old Spook Hall, was in reality the home of Mrs. Merrill, who suddenly found herself a very rich woman. Such was the mystery hanging over the Merrills, and hovering about Beacon Castle, and such was the story told to the young naval officer during his drive to the place so long dreaded as Spook Hall, but which had been fitted up and refurnished by Mrs. Merrill to welcome home its master. A pleasant month did Mark spend at home, and while there he gave away in marriage, for her father had died the year before, pretty Virgene Rich to Herbert Nazro, of the United States Navy, and a handsome couple they were, too. And Mark Merrill? But if I say more I fear I will be pointing too directly at the officer who has been my hero, and whom, perhaps, too many already have recognized; so I will let fall the curtain upon the gallant young sailor who won the victory in his fight for fame. THE END. * * * * * THE CREAM OF JUVENILE FICTION THE BOYS’ OWN LIBRARY A Selection of the Best Books for Boys by the Most Popular Authors