"She bent her head, and hid her face with her wasted fingers, through which the hot tears fell fast as the rain-drops in the breeze from the shower-bedashed tree above us--when the sound of hound and horn once more swelled in the gale; and first the fox came over the wall above us, then the whole pack, tumbling tumultuously one over another down the face of the rocky precipice, twinkling hither and thither, and dropping from stone to cliff like the breeze-scattered foam of a cataract, _then one solitary cavalier, who was dashed, horse and man, to the ground, close to us where we sat_, the rider falling senseless, and the blood flowing from his mouth and ears. The gallant horse, however, struggled to get on his legs again, until he reached the brink of the old quarry close beneath us, over which he rolled, dragging the wounded man along with him by the stirrup, and disappeared, rattling and rasping among the loose stones and bushes. Jessy was roused in an instant; she had caught a glimpse of the wounded man's face as he was dragged past her, and giving a loud shriek, as if her heart had split in twain, dashed herself down the precipice after him, and vanished for ever from my eyes amongst the furze--_it was William Adderfang!_" The issue of all this complicated misery was the unfortunate girl being carried home, and that night prematurely confined of a dead child--_she never saw the sun rise again_. As for the poor Dominie, although his character was cleared both by Jessy Miller on her death-bed, and ultimately by Adderfang himself, his heart was nearly broken; indeed, the blow was heavy enough to "drive his wits a wee bit ajee," as he phrased it, ever after. In this half crazy, half desperate condition, he suddenly left friends, and house, and home, and wandered about the country, until his means of subsistence failing, he enlisted into the militia; and afterwards, as related by Serjeant Lorimer, into the marines, on the reduction of the former. Enough and to spare of the Sorrows of Dominie Skelp; those who desire more must wait until he publishes them: but the Midge is but a little vessel, and a heavy episode would swamp her. So-- "Here, Mr Peak," struck in Dick Lanyard, who was standing close beside the small open skylight,--"clap on that purchase, and take a small pull of the main-halyards, before we keep away, do you hear? Belay all that. Now, Dogvane, put the helm up--so. Let draw the foresheet there." "Ay, ay, sir." And once more the wicked little Midge buzzes along free. CHAPTER XII. GAMBLING--AN UNLUCKY HIT. The day wore on without any thing worth relating. At length I was disturbed by a loud burst of laughter on deck, and adjourned to the open air. The first thing that struck me was poor little Dicky Phantom, a close prisoner in a turkey basket--a large wicker cage-looking affair, that we had originally brought from the frigate with poultry. He was crying bitterly.