“Mr Wilder, my business imposes the necessity of knowing much that other men overlook. Now is this adventure, which, by your features, I perceive you deem so forlorn in its hopes of success, one of easy achievement. I am convinced that not an officer or man on board the ‘Dart’ has ever seen the ship whose name I have chosen to usurp. She is too fresh from the stocks to incur that risk. Then is there little probability that I, in my other self, shall be compelled to acknowledge acquaintance with any of her officers; for you well know that years have passed since your late ship has been in Europe; and, by running your eye over these books, you will perceive I am that favoured mortal, the son of a Lord, and have not only grown into command, but into manhood, since her departure from home.” “These are certainly favouring circumstances, and such as I had not the sagacity to detect.—But why incur the risk at all?” “Why! Perhaps there is a deep-laid scheme to learn if the prize would repay the loss of her capture; perhaps——it is my humour. There is fearful excitement in the adventure.” “And there is fearful danger.” “I never count the price of these enjoyments.—Wilder,” he added, turning to him with a look of frank and courteous confidence, “I place life and honour in your keeping; for to me it would be dishonour to desert the interests of my crew.” “The trust shall be respected,” repeated our adventurer in a tone so deep and choaked as to be nearly unintelligible. Regarding the still ingenuous countenance of his companion intently for an instant, the Rover smiled as if he approved of the pledge, waved his hand in adieu, and, turning, was about to leave the cabin but a third form, at that moment, caught his wandering glance. Laying a hand lightly on the shoulder of the boy, whose form was placed somewhat obtrusively in his way, he demanded, a little sternly. “Roderick, what means this preparation?” “To follow my master to the boat.” “Boy, thy service is not needed.” “It is rarely wanted of late.” “Why should I add unnecessarily to the risk of lives, where no good can attend the hazard?” “In risking your own, you risk all to me,” was the answer, given in a tone so resigned, and yet so faltering that the tremulous and nearly smothered sounds caught no ears but those for whom they were intended. The Rover for a time replied not. His hand still kept its place on the shoulder of the boy, whose working features his riveted eye read, as the organ is sometimes wont to endeavour to penetrate the mystery of the human heart. “Roderick,” he at length said, in a milder and a a kinder voice, “your lot shall be mine; we go together.”