I said, "Mr. Job, I've kept you already too long from your dinner. Go and eat, and ask them to send in something for me. Afterwards, I want you to come with me and take a look at my yacht, that is lying just outside the haven." As we started from the shore Mr. Job, casting his eyes over the _Siren_, remarked, "That's a very pretty yawl of yours, sir." As we drew nearer, he began to eye her uneasily. "She has been lengthened some five or six feet," I said; "she was a cutter to begin with." "Lord help us!" then said Mr. Job, in a hoarse whisper. "She's the _Queen of Sheba_. I'd swear to her run anywhere--ay, or to that queer angle of her hawse-holes." A close examination confirmed Mr. Job that my yacht was no other than the lost _Queen of Sheba_, lengthened and altered in rig. It persuaded me, too. I turned back to Plymouth, and, leaving the boat in Cattewater, drove to the Millbay Station and took a ticket for Bristol. Arriving there just twenty-four hours after my interview with Mr. Job, I made my way to Mrs. Carlingford's lodgings. She had left them two years before; nothing was known of her whereabouts. The landlady could not even tell me whether she had moved from Bedminster: And so I had to let the matter rest. But just fourteen days ago I received the following letter, dated from a workhouse in one of the Midland counties:-- "DEAR SIR,--I am a dying woman, and shall probably be dead before this reaches you. The doctor says he cannot give me forty-eight hours. It is _angina pectoris_, and I suffer horribly at times. The yacht you purchased of me is not the _Wasp_, but the _Queen of Sheba_. My husband designed her. He was a man of some property near Limerick; and he and my son were involved in some of the Irish troubles between 1881 and 1884. It was said they had joined one of the brotherhoods, and betrayed their oaths. This I am sure was not true. But it is certain we had to run for fear of assassination. After a year in Liverpool we were forced to fly south to Port William, where we brought the yacht and lived for some time in quiet, under our own names. But we knew this could not last, and had taken measures to escape when need arose. My husband had chanced, while at Liverpool, upon an old yacht, dismantled and rotting in the Mersey--but of about the same size as his own and still, of course, upon the register. He bought her of her owner--a Mr. Carlingford, and a stranger--for a very few pounds, and with her--what he valued far more--her papers; but he never completed the transfer at the Custom House. His plan was, if pressed, to escape abroad, and pass his yacht off as the _Wasp_, and himself as Mr. Carlingford. All the while we lived at Port William the _Queen of Sheba_ was kept amply provisioned for a voyage of at least three weeks, when the necessity overtook us, quite suddenly--