The cloud arose, and spread, and covered the whole face of the heavens as with a black pall, in strange and terrible contrast to the surface of the sea, now lashed into a white foam. A driving storm of wind and rain came on. Dick, who much preferred the comfortable to the sublime, left the deck and went below to smoke and read by the light of the cabin lamp. But, after one or two attempts, he found the reading process quite impracticable by the motion of the vessel, and so he gave it up. After a while, he was joined by the master, who had left the deck in charge of his mate. “It has turned into a settled rain that will last all night,” said Captain Wallace, as he took the chair Dick pushed towards him; for Dick, as one of the parties hiring the yacht, was king of the cabin. “Disagreeable, but not dangerous,” was Dick’s cool comment as he pushed his case of cigars toward his guest. “Thank you, sir; but, if you don’t mind, I’ll take my pipe,” said Captain Wallace, who soon comprehended that he might take liberties with this good-humored young man who was but too ready to fraternize with the first companion fortune favored him with. And there the two men sat and smoked through the first hours of the dismal night. At midnight, they turned in. Dick slept long and well. It was late in the morning when he awoke. Judging from his previous day’s experience, he thought the yacht must be in port or near it. He dressed himself quickly, and went on deck. He found himself still at sea. A slow, steady rain was falling, and dark clouds closed in the horizon. The dismal night had been followed by a dismal day; and the worst of it was, that he could not sleep through the day as he had slept through the night. “Good morning to you, sir! a dark sky!” said the master, coming up to his side. “Yes. Are we near port?” “Within twenty miles.” “How fast are we going?” “How slow, you mean? The wind is against us—we are not making more than four knots an hour.” “At that rate, we shall not make Southampton in less than five hours. Let me see,” said Dick, consulting his watch,—“it is now ten o’clock. We shall not, at this rate, get in before three.” “No, sir; but you’ll have some breakfast now?” “Thanks, yes! it will help to pass the time, at least.” The master beckoned a boy, and sent a message to the steward. And, in half an hour afterwards the appetizing breakfast of the yacht was served; and Dick did his usual justice to the meal. Afterwards he killed the time as well as he could by reading a little, talking a little, and smoking a little. Affairs also turned out rather better than he had expected. At noon the wind changed, the sky cleared, the sun shone out, and the “Flying Foam,” with all her sails set, skimmed over the seas towards England at the rate of eleven knots an hour. At one o’clock she dropped anchor at Southampton. Dick settled his last scores with the master,—who was master afloat, and agent ashore,—and then he inquired: