"But," said Captain Acton in a tone that marked the depression of his spirits, "you must remember that this visible girdle of sea has, even in brilliant weather and from the mast-head, but a narrow width, and we might even now be abreast of the _Minorca_ which is sailing yonder, or yonder, hull and spars down to a fathom below the sensible edge." "We've allowed for that, sir," said the Admiral. "'Tis a contingency which has had a very full share of contemplation. If we miss her and pass her in the way you suggest, there is still Rio to receive us, where we will await the _Minorca's_ arrival. And in that you will get your way, and crown this struggle with success. So that let us miss her by failing to sight her as you say, it can but mean that we shall be first and ready for Mr Lawrence." "True," answered Captain Acton. At that moment the man at the mast-head with the telescope still at his eye, shouted the magic words: "Sail ho!" "Where away?" yelled Captain Weaver from the side of the wheel. "Right ahead, sir." "How standing?" bawled Weaver. After a brief pause: "Coming for us, sir. We are rising her." But the schooner might be rising her through overtaking her, and nearly a quarter of an hour must elapse before the sailor aloft could shout with emphasis down to the deck that the sail was standing right for them and that she was square rigged. The circumstance of a sail heaving into sight was necessarily brimful of excitement and interest to Captain Acton and the Admiral. She might prove a peaceful trader or a man-of-war, a friend or an enemy, a privateer, or as likely as not the _Minorca_ rolling home in charge of Eagle and her crew, who, conscious of the presence of Lucy on board, and having learnt that the ship's destination was any port but Kingston, had mutinied, and locked up the Captain in his cabin, and turned tail for Old Harbour Town. But the breakfast bell had been rung, and leaving Captain Weaver and his mate to keep an eye upon the stranger and to act with the prudence which was to be expected of a man of Weaver's sagacity and experience, Captain Acton and his companion entered the deck-house. Here was a cheerful little interior, gay with sunshine, which sparkled in the furniture of the breakfast-table, on which smoked as relishable and hearty a meal as was to be obtained at sea in those days. The two gentlemen found much to talk about, and perhaps because of an argument they had fallen into, their sitting was somewhat lengthened: until just when they were about to rise, Captain Weaver came to the cabin door, and after, with the old-fashioned courtesy of his period, begging their pardon, he exclaimed: "The sail's now clear in the glass from the deck." "What is she, do you think?" said Captain Acton. "She looks to me, sir, a worn-out bit of a brig about a hundred tons. Most sartinly there's nothing to be afraid of in her." "She's not the _Minorca_?" cried the Admiral. "No, sir, she carries no royals."