The novelist, and even the poet, could find no lovelier locality, ready created for the scenes of fancied grief and pleasures, than that contained within lines embracing Saint Leonard's Creek and its immediate adjuncts. Not only is the stream itself--especially in the fair expanse near its junction with the river, which is now supposed to lie glowing and dimpling in the morning sunshines with varying lights and shadows, before the reader's mental eyes--remarkably beautiful; but all around it--every bill and dale, every field and grove, every jutting promontory and retiring cove--partakes of the same character of pre-eminent loveliness. On the southern side of the expanse mentioned is a broad beach of white sand. From the side of a cliff which towers above this beach flows a fountain of water, very pure, clear, and cold, and equally abundant at all seasons of the year. This fountain is known throughout a large district of surrounding country as the Spout, and is some fifty yards from the spot where the road, leading down the ravine before-mentioned, enters upon the sands. Just as Captain Marston and John Coe stepped upon the shore, and were turning to the left hand to seek the fountain, a short and stout man, about forty years of age, with long, curling locks of reddish-brown hair, and a face very darkly tanned by sun and breeze, and, probably, by battle, too--to judge by the marks upon his countenance--presented himself before them. "Stand!" exclaimed this individual, planting himself directly in front of the two young men, and presenting a cocked pistol in each hand. "We'll see about that," said John Coe, sternly, drawing a pistol also. But Captain Marston placed a hand upon the arm of the angry young man. "Don't be so fast, John," he said. "Don't you see the twinkle in the fellow's eyes? I am disposed to believe that this is but a jest after all. What do you want?" he continued, addressing the sailor. "No one can go beyond this spot," answered the stranger, "without giving the password." "A F E?" said Captain Marston, interrogatively. "There seems to be something in that," remarked the sailor; "but it will not answer." "How will this answer?" asked the captain. "`All for Each?'" "All right," was the reply; "pass, gentlemen." As the two young men walked forward, they were followed by the sailor, who still held the two pistols in his hands.