B 3 5t.2 saa 10 ui I'KK i: 1 !F I Ki:\ ( IN' e Borelette, |lo» 1^. u.. THE STORM CHILDREN; THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. Stort/ of Sea and Land Ad rent are. BY SYLVANUSICOBB, JR. TJIK STOIIM riril.[)i;i:\ IX DAN'OEH. t... <'ril( i UAI.l.ol - MOXTHJ.^ Nr.VGAZTXK THE NOVELETTE. ENTERTAINING STORIES BY STANDARD AMERICAN AUTHORS. ILLUSTBATED. No. I. —The Arkansas Ranger, or Dingle the Backwoodsman. A Story of East and West. By Lieut. Murray. A vivid story, unrivaled in plot and character;- thrilling in marvelous adventures. No. a. — The Sea Lion, or The Privateer of the Penobscot. A Story of Ocean Life. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. One of Cobb's best; occurring during that fertile period of adventure, our second war with England. No. J. — Marion's Brigade, or The Light Dragoons. A Tale of the Revolution. By Dr. J. H. Robinson. Among the many tales which our Revolutionary struggles have drawn from the pen.s of noted historians and story-tellers, perhajJS none excel this one from the pen of Dr. Robinson. Ifo.4. — Bessie Baine, or the Mormon's Victim. A Tale of Utah. By M. Quad, of the Detroit Free Press. In thisgreat original story, written expressly for our establishment, Mr. Lewis has shown up the whole system of Mormon- ism, and all its terrible aims and results. No. 5. —The Red Revenger, or the Pirate King of the Floridas. A Tale of the Gulf and its Islands. By Ned Buntline. This thrilling tale is one that portrays many tragic and romantic phases of life at a period when deadly conflict was maintained between the Spaniards of Cuba and the desperate pirates who infested the seas in its vicinity some three centuries ago. Nn. 6. — Orlando Chester, or The Young Hunter of Virginia. A Story of Colonial Timee. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. This story is one of the happiest efforts of the author, who has wrought out a series of domestic scenes in private life of much interest. Na 7. — The Secret-Service Ship, or the Fall of San Juan d'Ulloa. A Romance of the Mexican War. By Capt. Charies E. Averill. The author enjoyed extraordinar>' facilities for gaining the actual knowledge necessary to the produc- tion of this captivating story; and hence its truthfulness and excellence. No. & —Adventures in the Pacific, or In Chase of a Wife. By Col. Isaac H. Folger. This sea stoo' will attract much at- tention from residents of the Cape, and many old whaling ca|)tains ard crews will recall its characters and inci- dents with lively interest^ and all fond of adventure will read it with relish. No. 9. — Ivan the Serf, or the Russian and Circassian. A Tale of Russia, Turkey, and Circassia. By Austin C. Bur- dick. This is a well-told and highly graphic tale of life, domestic and military, in Russia, Turkey, and Circassia. No. 10. — The Scout, orthe Sharpshooters of the Revolution. A Stor>' of our Revolutionary Struggle. By Major Ben. Per- ley Poore. This story of our Revolutionary struggle is one of much interest, and narrates, with vivid, lifelike effect, sone of the scenes of that eventful period. No. n. — Daiuci t)ouiic, or iiic f louecis 01 KeuiucKy. A I'aie of Early Western Life. By Dr. J. H. Robinson. The I M terrible experiences of the early Western settlers, with their perils and privations, then struggles, and their tri- M umphs, afford a vivid field for the writer, who has lent himself to the task with a rich result. No. 12. — The King of the Sea. A Tale of the Feariess and Free. By Ned Buntlme This is one of the most popular romances of the sea written by this well-known author, anS the characters which appear are replete with inter- est and individuality. No. 13. — The Queen of the Sea, or Our Lady of the Ocean. A Tale of Love and Chivalry. By Ned Buntline. This is a storv of the buccaneers of the seventeenth century, and is fraught with the sanguinary incidents of those times. No. 14.— The Heart's Sepret, or The Fortunes of a Soldier. A Tale of Love and the Low Latitudes. By Lieutenant Murray. This is a very; interesting story of life among the noble ift the island of Cuba. Its plot is well con- ceived and happily carried out, and furnishes a skillful series of evenis of intense interest. No. 15.— The Storm Children, or The Light-Keeper of the Channel. A Story of Land and Sea Adventure. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. This story is one of great interest. The principal incidents are located 011 the coast of England, al- though the developments carry the reader into the Eastern world. It is a fine portraiture of human character. ANNOUNCEMENT. Novelette Number Sixteen will be ready for publication about October 16th, containing the following story: ONE-EYED JAKE; OR, THE YOUNG DRAGOON. A Story of the Revolutionary Struggle. BY EDWARDS KEEI.ER OLMSTEAD. pirK.so All persons veil read in the literature of our country arc familiar with Cooper's novel, " The Spy." This novel, though less in extent, is ha.setl upon scenes like those employed by Cooper. The author has portrayed them in a masterly manner, fully eiiualling in intensity the work of the great novelist. A New Book is Issued Each Mouth. ^ =For .sale at all periKlioal depots throughout the country, or sent by mail, post- paid by the publisher, on receipt of 1-5 cents per copy; or will send Four Books for 50 cents; Eight Books, $1.00, all post-paid. G. W. STUDLEY, 23 HAWL.EY STIJFET, BOSTON, MASS. m mm mmih THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL A Story of Sea and Land Adventure. BY SYLVANUSlCOBB, JR. THE STOUM CIIILDUKN IN DANGER. CHAPTER I. THK LIGHT-KEKPER AND HIS mOTEGE. UPON the nothern coast of Devonshire, some seven miles to tlie west of the confines of Somerset, there maizes out into the Britisli Channel an abrupt promontory, known sometimes among seamen as Little Devon Head. From its north-eastern point around to the eastern main, the shore is a smooth heach, while the nothern and west- ern b#rinds are of ragged rocks. To the northeast, and shielding the little beach from the gales that come up from the Atlan- tic, a huge rock reaches out into the water, forming a small, snug cove, which lies un- usually quiet with its still water, while th. huge waves are lashing the rocks upon tin opposite side of the promontory. From thi> cove a narrow path leads up on to the gras>- grown summit of the headland, and there- stands a small, one-story house, and near it is a beacon. The house and the beacon, at M 52?!*^ 2 THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. the time of which we write, were the only buildings upon the promontory. Back of the house, to the south, the view was cut off by a sturdy growth of oak, but to the north the scene was grand. Almost the whole surface of the British Channel could be swept with the naked eye, and the Welsh coast of Glamorgon was dimly visible in the distance. It was about the middle of the afternoon of a day in early spring. In the little cove just alluded to, lay a large, sloop-built boat, with high, strong bulwarks, and short, stout spars. Near her bows stood a man who seemed, from his manner, to be the monarch of all about him. He was about forty years of age ; he might have been older, and perhaps younger — but a shrewd calculator would have set him at forty, and the varia- tion could not have been of much conse- quence. He was a strong-built man — his limbs all rightly shaped and proportioned, and set with an easy firmness. He wore a rough drab pea jacket, a coarse blue vest, and trowsers of heavy duck, while his head was covered with a wide-rimmed, low, bowl- crowned, painted hat. His brow was broad and heavy, his eyes black and large, his nose slightly Roman and prominent, and his mouth of a medium size. The lips were peculiar — being thinner than seemed to cor- respond with the other features, and seemed to be constantly quivering — a quivering, however, almost imperceptible, unless he was regarded somewhat particularly. His hair was short, leaving his broad brow and temples entirely bare, and its color was of a jetty black. His beard was of the same color, and it grew just where nature had pro- vided, but it was neatly trimmed at the ends, nevertheless. The moustache swept off in a graceful curve on cither side, leaving the marked lip in sight; and the whole beard was what would have been thought a" celes- tial possession" by a Persian monarch. Such was Luke Garrou, the light-keeper of the Devon Head. He stood now with one hand resting on the rail of the boat, and the other folded against his hip. The hand (hat rested on the hip drew back the front of the long jacket, and revealed a large pis- tol that reposed within the belt that support- ed the trowsers. By the light-keeper's side stood a stout, steeled-fluked grappling-hook and a heavy axe, implements which had on more than one occasion helped him in ren- dering assistance to those who needed it. Luke Garron seemed fitted by nature to some higher sphere than that in which we now find him, but he was, nevertheless, just the man for the place he filled. Fearless and undaunted, strong, and persevering, generous and kind-hearted, he had saved many a life from the grave of the channel. While standing as we have described him, he seemed lost in reflective thought, but ere long he was aroused by the appearance of a boy who came running down the path from the house. The boy made his way to the boat and approached the light-keeper. He was a lovely child, with bright, sunny curls, large blue eyes, and a smiling, happy cast of countenance. Not over eight years could have rolled over his head. "Ah! what now, Alfred?" asked the man, as he stretched forth his hands to greet the new-comer. " Oh, I've come to find you. Old Kepsey wont talk with me, and I feel lonesome." Luke Garron stooped and kissed the boy's white brow. " Nepsey is a good woman, but she doesn't like to talk," he said. " Oh yes she's good," the boy uttered. "Yes; and she loves you, too. I have just been thinking about you, Alfred." "Ah! and what did you think, father ? It was something good, I hope." " I was thinking that you would always stay with me, and be my child." " How can I help it ? You are my fath- er," the boy returned, as Luke took him up in his stout arms. " You saved my life from the ugly sea when I was almost drowned. You've always been good to me — very good — a great deal better than the old father I had." " I guess you don't remember much about your other father." " Oh yes I do," Alfred said, with consid- THE STOKM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. erable animatiou. " I remember how he used to strike me, and .you are always so good. Oh, I love you! " As the boy ceased speaking, he placed his finger upon Luke's cheek and wiped off a large tear that stood there. For some mo- ments the man was silent. He kissed Alfred again, and said: — " You must study, Alfred. I left you in the house with your book. You should have got your lesson before you came out." " OhI I've got it all perfect — every word of it." Luke looked incredulous. '' I have, certainly," the boy continued, se^'ming'to comprehend the meaning of his protector's look. " Well, well, I'll hear you recite it when I go in." Luke placed the boy upon his feet, and then turned to haul in a rope that was hang- ing overboard. "Father, just see those great big black clouds that are rising over the rock. I saw them before I came down here. Suppose we should have one of those dreadful storms ? " Luke Garron looked up over his head, and he saw that the boy had spoken the truth. Heavy clouds were rolling up into the heav- ens, and the waters of the channel were changed to a sable hue. Little spits of wind were flying in from the Atlantic, and the waves wore gathering tiny crests of white foam. Luke took the boy by the hand, and left the boat. When he reached the summit of the bluff he saw that a real storm was brewing in the west. " I trust all ships may be well clear of the iee shore," murmured the light-keeper. Alfred looked up into his face, and he knew, from the shades he saw there, that danger might be expected. Ere long big raindrops began to fall, and the light-keeper and his protege started towards the house. " Ahl " uttered Luke, " who is that going off through the woods ? " "OhI I forgot," returned Alfred, as he gazed in the direction pointed out by Luke's finger. " It's a man that stopped to get a drink of water; but I didn't think he would stop all this time. Nepsey was getting the water for him when I came out." " Why does he go away just as it begins to rain ? " " Perhaps he's in a hurry." " Maybe," fell from Garron's lips, and he spoke not again until he reached the house. Nepsey was just beginning to prepare for cooking the supper. She was a woman somewhere about fifty years old, with a look of shrewdness about horface; and though her features were far from comely, yet they were by no means repulsive. She had been a sort of a fixture to the house for over twenty years, having lived there with her husband, who had been a former keeper of the place, but whose death had given the berth to the present incumbent. " Who was that man, Nepsey, that called here just now ? " asked Luke. " I don't know, sir," returned Nepsey. " ne remained some time." " Yes sir." " To rest, I suppose ? " " Y''— e — es, sir," hesitatingly answered the old woman, as she arose from the fire she had just been kindling upon the hearth. " He said he would rest." Nepsey glanced mysteriously at Alfred as she spoke, and then her gaze was fixed earn- estly upon her master. Luke noticed her manner, and a dark shade passed over his face. " What did he say, Nepsey ? " he asked. " He asked me about Alfred." " Well, and what did you tell him ? " The woman was uneasy, and the evident perturbation of her master increased the dif- ficulty. She hesitated for a moment, and then said: — " I told him more than I ought; but he commenced by asking his questions so care- lessly, and so common-place like, that I did not mistrust that he had any interest in the matter." " And how do you know that he did have any interest in the matter? " quickly asked Luke, gazing earnestly into the woman's face. " By the way he looked and acted after he 4 THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OP THE CHANNEL. found out that Alfred was not your child, but that you took him from the water in a great storm four years ago." " Did you tell him all this ? " ^'Yes." " You ought not to have done it." " I know it." Luke Garron was silent for some moments. Alfred crept to his side and asked him what was the matter; but Luke gave him no rinswer. " What sort of a looking man was he ? " he at length asked of Nepsey. " Not at all pleasant or agreeable after he had been here a spell, though he looked well enough when he first called. He looked half wolf and half snake." At any other time Garron would have smUed at Nepsey's answer, but he felt not like it now. " Had he any feature by which you could mark him ? " he asked. " Yes; three great scars on his face — one across his nose, one on his cheek, and one across his chin." " What does it all mean, father ? " asked the boy, as he got up into Luke's lap and put his arms about the keeper's neck. " What does it all mean ? " '• Nothing, nothing, my child," said Gar- ron, who seemed nervous and unhappy. "Ah I father, you remember what you heard me read in my Bible yesterday ? " Luke gazed into the face of the boy with- out speaking. "You know," continued Alfred, "we must not deceive each other. I know you have something. Do tell me what it is. Come, I'll be good ? " " O Alfred, you must not ask mel " bit- terly exclaimed Luke. ' ' Nepsey , you should not have told him; you should not have said a word." " But I couldn't— I didn't know. He did not seem to be anyways concerned about the matter at first, and I'm sure I didn't think of harm. Don't blame mel " " I wont blame you, Nepsey," uttered Luke; " but I'm sorry— sorry I " The light-keeper found the boy's gaze fixed earnestly upon him as he spok©. Those large, blue eyes were shining with an earnest, liquid light, and the lips were tremb- ling with fear. " Alfred," Luke said, " do not be alarmed; I will protect you." "But what is the danger? Who is that man ? " Garron looked steadily into the boy's face some time without speaking. At length he said : — " It must have been he who was wrecked with you." " My father? " cried Alfred, with a look of alarm. "Yes." " Oh I you wiU not let me go away with him ? " urged the boy, clinging more closely to his protector. " You will keep me with you ? " "Yes, yes," returned Luke, folding the boy to his bosom. " Fear not. I know Marrok Pettrell, and he shall not have" The light-keeper hesitated, his face grew darker, and he was more agitated. " Come, Alfred, get your book, and I will hear your lesson. Let this fear pass from your mind." The boy thought his protector had ban- ished all his own fear. He was not old enough to read those quivering signs that dwelt still upon Luke's face, and with a look of assured safety he ran for his book. His lesson had indeed been most faithfully com- mitted, and while he was answering bis kind teacher's questions, his young face was lighted up by the glow of youthful ardor. He was proud to learn. Luke Garron heard the lesson through, but his task was a hard one. He saw that the boy's fears were in a measure quieted, and he strove hard to prevent any look or word of his own from renewing them. " That's a noble boy! " he said, as he returned the book. " Keep on so, and you will be a happy man." Luke Garron may have meant what he said; but it is certain that he shuddered when he thought of the boy's future. THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. 5 CHAPTER II. THE TEMPEST.— THE SIGNAL GUN. It had grown dark, and Garron had gone to light up the beacon. The rain came down in sweeping torrents, and the wind howled like ;i mad lion. The sea roared with terror in its deep-toned voice, and the great waves crashed like tumbling mountains as they broke in fury over the rocks of the promon- tory. ''This is a fearful night," uttered the light-keeper, as he entered the house and shook the rain from his long jacket. *' God forbid that there be a vessel on our coast! " " How the wind howls," said Nepsey, who was crouched away in the chimney c(>rner. " It's never blown harder than this but once for twenty years; and that was when the sea rolled up over our very dooryard." '• So far as that ? "' said Alfred. " Yes," resumed Nepsey, while she put the corner of her apron to her eye; " that was when my husband was lost. It was nearly midnight then, and the light in the beacon had gone out. He was determined to go and relight it. I tried to make him stay with me, but go he would. He went out — he got to the beacon and fired the lamp, but he never came back again." " But how was he lost ? " asked the boy, who had become interested. '• lie must have been swept away. I looked out of the window and saw him in the beacon after he had fired the great wicks, and then I saw him turn to come down. A few minutes afterwards the windows of this room were broken in with a loud crash, and I heard the great sea as it rolled over. My husband must have gone with it, for I never saw him afterwards." Alfred arose from his seat and went to the side of the woman. She was sobbing be- neath the smart of the wound she had opened, and the boy placed his arm about her neck, and tried to soothe her. He was successful, for Nepsey kissed the kind-hearted boy and >iniled. At nine o'clock, Alfred sought his bed, but lie could not sleep, The wind howled so about the low walls, and the waves roared so upon the rocky shore, that he could only re- member that fearful, dreadful night when he himself had been torn from the breaking ship, and washed up to where the light- keeper had found him. That was four years before, when he was only four years old, but the scene was as fresh and vivid before his mind as though he possessed the mental powers of manhood. He remembered noth- ing back of the storm save the face and blows of Marrok Pettrell, a man who had professed to be his father; but he could only think of Pettrell with horror. Upon Luke Garron he fastened his childish love. He had been born into the world of enjoyment when he first found shelter beneath the keeper's roof: he was the child of the storm, and Luke had often called him his little " Storm Child." It was no wonder that Garron loved this Storm Child, for the little fellow was all goodness, all kindness, gratitude, and love. He remembered just enough of the first four years of his life to form a contrast with the present, and that contrast filled him with thanks and gratitude. His mind held a fear engendered by the visit of Pettrell, the preceding afternoon, but his young soul reposed with considerable confidence in the power of Garron. Both Garron and himself had thought Pettrell dead until the present time; they thought he had been lost at the time when Alfred was wrecked; but his ap- pearance — Garron knew from Kepsey's des- cription that it must be he — had dispelled the supposition. It was after ten o'clock when Alfred fell asleep. At midnight he was awakened by the breaking in of his window. He leaped from his bed, and the first thought that flashed across his mind was of the sea's hav- ing reached the house; but it was only the wind, after all, that had blown the window in. He soon calmed his worst fears, but he could not think of retiring again. The wind was still howling with all its might, but the rain had nearly ceased falling. Occa- sional drops, however, came driving down like half-spent pistol-balls. THE STOKM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. The boy sought the kitchen, and Nepsey was there over the fire. He asked for his father, and was told that he was in the bea- con. The woman tried to persuade Alfred from venturing out, but it was of no avail. He drew on his coat, and having buttoned it closely about him, he put on his cap and left the house. For several moments after he had gained the yard, he was obliged to give way before the tempest. The wind came near taking him upon its bosom and bearing him off, but he at length braced himself and faced it, and after a long and tedious effort he reached the beacon. The door was on the leeward side of the structure, and he opened it and closed it after him without diflSculty. He ascended the narrow stone stairs and found Garron seated near the lamps. " Mercy on me! "Why, what brought you here, Alfred ? " exclaimed Luke, as the boy approached him. "I came to seek you, father. Oh, how dreadfully it blows! " " But you should not have ventured out, my child." " I could not stay in my room, for the wind has blown one of my windows in. I had rather be here with you." " Your room would have been safer than this place," returned Garron. " Then what makes you stay here ? " " To see that the lamps do not go out. They have been out twice now. The wind draws through the crevices in the door, and sometimes it comes up here in gusts." The beacon did vibrate beneath the pow- er of the gale, and Alfred could not but feel a degree of alarm as he felt the returning shocks, but he soon became used to it, and a sense of novelty overcame his fear. " This is dreadful, and yet how grand it is," uttered the boy, as he crept down by the side of his guardian. " If it wasn't for the danger of life to these poor folks at sea, I could almost wish this would last. It makes me feel like a man to face up such a storm." Garron gazed on the upturned face of the boy, and a smile lit up his features. But the smile soon passed away, and with a sober look he laid his hand upon Alfred's head. " You feel safe, my child, because I am here with you," he said. The boy silently acknowledged the truth of the remark. " You say you feel like a man," contin- ued Garron, with a tone of deep pathos and meaning. " You feel like a man because you can face this storm and brave all its dan- gers; but when you grow up to be a man in years, do you think you can face all the storms you may meet ? " Alfred looked inquisitively at his guardian. ''' You will then have other storms to face. Perhaps in a few years you will be cast upon the world, and be obliged to guide your own bark. Did you know there are such things as sin and wickedness in the world ? " " Yes," said the boy, with a shudder. " And did you know that evil men some- times tempt the unwary into sin ? Ah I my child, if you live to be a man, you will find many a storm of life to be faced, and he is a noble man who comes out safely from them all. "When you came out of the house to- night, did you not have to stand still a few moments ere you could gain strength to make your way against the storm ? " " Yes; ;md it even took me back a little ways." " Would it not have been very easy for you to have turned about and walked the other way ? " " Oh yes! " " And why did you not do it ? " " Why, I should certainly have been lost." " Yes. And why did you face the storm and walk bravely against it ? " " Why, because the beacon was this way." " That's it, my child," returned Garron, as he drew the boy closer to him. " Xow can you not always bear this simple thing in mind ? You wish to be a good man when you grow up, and you wish to have your name honored ? " " Yes," said the boy. " Then," resumed Garron, "let that be your beacon, and remember that to reach THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. that beacon is the object of your journey of life. Lei the wind be high or low, let it blow a tempest or a gentle breeze, keep your face towards the beacon, and push boldly forward. If the gale be against you, face it without fear. It may at times seem more easy to walk the other way when the tem- pest howls in your face, but remember that the ocean of danger may swallow you. Face about, brave the storm, and push on for your beacon. Think you can remember this ? " The boy arose to his feet, and after gaz- JHg for a moment into his protector's face, he threw his arm about the good man's neck, and gently murmured : — " I shall never forget it." The tempest howled, and the beacon trem- bled, but for a while the man and boy no- ticed it not. They were busy with other thoughts. • "Great God I what was that?" cried the light-keeper, lifting the boy from his knees and springing to his feet. " I heard nothing but the wind," said the boy. " No, no, 'twas not the wind. Hal Did you hear that, Alfred ? " " I heard something. It was the break of a big wave on the rocks." " Oh, no, it was a gunl " " A gun! " repeated Alfred. " Then there must be some ship on the coast." " Yes. Ah, there goes another. Stay you here. I will go down and see if I can make out her whereabouts. Another — and another. Oh, this is fearful I " " I must go with you," said the boy. " You had better stay." " No, let me go. I can face the storm." " Then come." Luke Garron saw that the beacon lamps were all safe, and then he turned to descend iho stone stairs. When he reached the ground he passed out, closed the door safely behind him, and then gave his hand to the boy. It was only a few rods to the head of the bluff, and with careful steps the keeper made his way along. The heavens were as black as ink, and the earth was buried in darkness; but the lashing waters of the broad Channel were visible in their phosphorescent glimmering, and the two companions could see the great white heaps of foam that came crashing upon the rocks. They had to grope their way along with the utmost care, for a single false step would be dangerous. Alfred, however, bore brave- ly up, and Garron found that his help was not necessary to keep the boy up. He still held him by the hand, though, for he did not care to run the risk of danger. Ere long there came a dull boom upon the tempest, and Garron stopped. Another and another report followed in rapid succession. " Those were guns, certainly," said Luke. " Ah, then I saw a glimmer," said the boy. Hardly were the words out of his mouth before the sound of the distant gun came rolling along. Alfred made his guardian understand the direction in which he had seen the glimmer, and it was soon seen again, and again the report followed. " That is the spot," said the keeper, fast- ening his eyes upon the point in which he had seen the light. " How far off is she ? " asked the bey at the top of his voice. "Not over six or seven miles," returned Garron. " And the wind must be setting her this way," added the boy, bracing himself more firmly against the gale. " Yes, yes," uttered the light-keeper, in a deep, heavy tone. " She is lost, lostl '' " If she don't work off," said the boy. " Work off I " echoed Garron. " A piece of canvas no bigger than a hat-cover wouldn't stand before this gale. Work off! Would to God she could, for Heaven knows I can give her no aid! I can only look up the ill- fated crew in the morning." It was now near two o'clock in the morn- ing. The rain had ceased falling altogether, and away off in the western heavens there appeared to be a breaking in the black sky. Still the light-keeper and the boy stood upon the bluff and gazed off to where ever and anon appeared the lightning of the ship'? suns. Those guns still boomed over the THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. waters, but the tempest mocked at them, and howled down their terror-laden notes. The ill-fated ship had now been driven so near that the report followed closely upon the flash of the gun. It was evident to Gar- ron that she would strike before she could reach the bluff. She seemed driving towards a point about half a mile to the westward of the spot where the watchers stood, and would thus strike the extreme western sweep of the promontory. " The people at Comb Martin may have heard the guns, and some of them may come out," said the boy. "Perhaps so; but that is sixteen miles from here, and no one would be very likely to follow the ship," returned Garron. Ohl God knows I cannot ward off the blowl They are in the hands of One who doeth all things well, and he will have called many a soul home to himself ere another sun shall rise. God have mercy on them, and I will do what I can." For a long time the two watchers stood in silence. The ship came nearer and nearer. It was now evident that she would strike, as Garron had anticipated. The break in the western sky had grown larger, and the heavy edges of the black clouds could be seen as they began to break away from the bosom of the Atlantic and roll up into the heavens. The gale seemed to slacken. Perhaps it was because the watchers had become inured to it. Yet its fury was on the wane. " I ihiuk I can see her," uttered the boy, pointing with his hand towards the spot where it had been thought the ship would strike. The light-keeper looked, and he could just distinguish a black mass upon the surging waves. His hands were clasped in fearful suspense. " Did you see her? " asked the boy. '' Yes, Alfred." " Oh, how near she is! Lookl Look!" " Her last moment is at hand! " murmured Luke Garron, as he bent his head forward and strained his eyes towards the fatal scene. " Hark! "" s^udderingly uttered the boy. At that moment there came a wild, fearful cry over the lashing surge. Then came a crashing — a rumbling of rending timbers — and again that wild cry broke upon the tem- pest. CHAPTER III. THE WRECK, AND THE STOKM CHILD. The first gray streaks of morning were in the east. The tempest had passed over in its fury, but the wind murmured a mournful requiem, and the great heavy waves rolled sluggishly in from the ocean. Luke Garron armed himself with a short hook and a hatchet, and a coil of light rope, and with Alfred for a companion, he set forth towards the scene of the wreck. As they descended the bluff towards the west they could just distinguish the outlines of the ragged mass of timbers that were fast- ened among the rocks. When they reached the low shore they found that fragments of the wreck were lodged all along in the crev- ices of the low breakers, and the sea was breaking over them in wild confusion. At the distance of ten rods from the promontory the two companions suddenly stopped. Up- on a small bed of gray sand, where the watef. washed in between two large rocks, lay the form of a human being. It was a seaman, and his face was turned downward. Luke turned the corpse over. The features were stiff and rigid. " This is the beginning," murmured the light-keeper, as he brushed the sand from the cold face. The boy did not speak, but he helped his protector draw the body further up on the shore, and then they passed on. Ere long another body was found, and having drawn it up out of the reach of the sea, the companions set forward again ; but they were soon stopped by a sight that chilled their blood. Three female forms lay close between two rocks, and they were clasped firmly in each other's embrace. Luke Garron stood for a moment without the power to speak. "Oh!" uttered the boy, shrinking more THE STOKM CHILDREN; OB, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. closely to his guardian, "this is dreadful. Think they are dead ? " ••Yes,'' mournfully returned Luke. "They no longer know what it is to suffer. The voice of the storm is hushed to their ears, and they feel not the chill of the cold sea. Death is but death. The angel unlocks the doors of the soul and lets the spirit forth; yet it seems hard to have the spirit torn out thu?.-' Luke could not move the bodies of the women without help, and he moved forward. At length he reached the spot where the ship had struck. Great spars and timbers were strewed about over the beach and among the rocks. For the distance of many rods the sea was flanked with big rocks and sharp crags, while back towards the shore was spread a low beach. Most of the lighter stuff that had broken loose from the wreck was spread upon this beach, but the heavy parts were lodged among the rocks. The >hip had struck her bows upon the breakers, and had then been literally knocked to pieces. For a long time Luke Garron searched for some living witness who might tell to him the story of the ship and her crew, but not one could he find. There were witnesses -enough to tell the sad story of the wreck, and of its load of death, but they were all silent — their lips were sealed. Many of those who had thus met their death, Luke knew must have been passen- gers. From the bales and boxes which were scattered about him, he knew that the ship had been an Indiamau. For nearly an hour the light-keeper continued his search, but every face he met was stiff and cold. The boy had been walking alone. His soul was filled with awe, and with a fearfully beating heart he gazed upon the ghastly emblems of mortality that lay about him. While his companion was hunting among the rocks, Alfred walked back to the spot where the three females were lodged be- tween the rocks. He reached the place, and for a long time he stood still and gazed upon the scene. Perhaps he was thinking of one who might have been his own mother; one whom he fancied he could remember, but whom he could only see in his young heart's affection, for his memory retained no image of the loved ideal. Suddenly the boy started, for he thought he heard a sound issue from one of the women, and he was sure that he saw a movement of the drapery that clung about the cold forms. He sprang forward and laid his hand upon the brow of her who laid up- permost, but there was no life there. The other two faces he could see, and he was sure that no life animated them. The sea broke over the spot, and all drenched with water the boy made his way to the sand. " It was only the gurgling of the water among the rocks," he said to himself, as he turned his eyes again upon the scene. But again he heard the sound, and he saw the drapery move. Once more he sprang forth upon the rocks and knelt down by the side of the corpse. Again he heard the sound that had startled him, and one of the dresses moved beneath his hand. It was surely the voice of a child he heard! With the strength that might have be- come a man, Alfred raised the uppermost form. His heart leaped with a wild thrill as he beheld a little child nestled awa\ in the embrace of the female he had moved. It opened its eyes as the light came in upon it, and a sharp cry broke from its lips. It was a girl, and as the boy raised her in his arms she laid her little head upon his bosom and began to cry. The child's resting-place had been so shielded from, the sea, that its force had been lost upon her, and she had not been struck by any of the timbers or rocks. Two of the women seemed to have been clasped together so as to shield the child, while the third clung to her companions from the in- stinct of safety. Of course, the little thing was wet and cold, but it seemed not to have been bodily harmed. With hasty steps the boy made his way back to the beach, and then cried out at the top of his voice for his guardian. Garron heard him, and hastened to the spot. '•Oh, see, see!" cried Alfred; " I have found a living child." 10 THE STORM CHILDREN: OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. ''God be thankedl" uttered Luke,-ashe took the child in his arms and gazed into its face. " One life, at least, is saved to earth. The little thing is cold. We must hasten to the house with it, and then come back again."' " Let me carry her," cried the boy. " You are not strong enough, Alfred. It would take you too long, and she is very cold now." Luke strode on towards his house with the child, and Alfred ran along by his side. "Here, Nepsey," said Garrou, as he en- tered the kitchen, " here is a charge for you. Get something dry for it as soon as possible." " But its mother — whei-e is she ? " asked the old woman, as she took the child in her arms, and instinctively kissed it. "I'm afraid this child is the only one saved from the wreck. We can find no more of life " "No morel All gonel" ejaculated Xep- sey. " Yes, all gone! But hurry and make the most of this." The woman was for some moments de- prived of her reasoning faculties, birt at length she gathered her senses together, and kissing the child again, she turned towards the fire. '' Another child of the storm," she said, as she fixed a seat for her charge. The light-keeper gazed thoughtfuUj- upon the child, and a kind look— almost a smile — broke over his features. "It is the second of my storm children," he said. " Be careful of her, Nepsey." There was no need of this charge, for the woman was hurrying to fix a warm, dry dress, and the cast of her countenance show- ed that her heart was enlisted in the work. Luke Garron started to return to the scene of the^ wreck, and Alfred followed him. When they again reached the spot, they found that a number of men had arrived from Comb Martin, and in less than an hour over an hundred people had assembled about the place. The bodies were all collected— or at least, such as could be found, and before noon two of the coroners of Devonshire, with other officers, were upon the spot. The ship' was found to be the "Chesham," but none of her papers could be found. At the request of Garron the bodies of the three females were carried up to his house, and the others were placed in wagons and carried to Comb Martin. The proper officers took charge of the wreck, and their men set about the work of collecting such things as were of value. The deep waters of the bay were settling into quiet once more. They seemed like the fa- tigued lion who has performed his work of death, and goes crouching away to his rest. It was nearly night when Luke Garrou re- turned to his house. The child was asleep, and he sought his own bed to gain, if pos- sible, a little rest before it would be time to light the beacon. Alfred, too, was tired, and he early sought that sleep of which he had been deprived the preceding night. The next morning was bright, and the little girl who had been saved from the wreck was running about the kitchen calling for her " mama." She was a bright-eyed creature, about four years old, and her hair hung down upon her shoulders in glossy ringlets. Her cheeks were wet with tears, nor could Nep- sej- comfort her. The light-keeper took her in his arms and carried her to where the bodies of the three females had been laid. " Mama, mama! " cried the child, reaching forth her little hands towards the female from whose embrace Alfred had released her. "Is that mama?" asked Garron, laying his hand upon the cold brow of the woman in question. " Yes, my mama — my mama! " cried the child, struggling to get away from the man who"^held her. " I think not," returned Luke. " That woman is certainly Scotch, and there is no likeness between her and the child." " But the child must know its own moth- er," said Nepsey; but she spoke in a doubt- ing mood, for she saw the disparity which Luke had pointed out. The woman was Scotch in dress and feature, and not far from forty years of age. " It may be only a nurse," said Garron. " It certainly cannot be a mother. If she is THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. the nurse who has always liad charge of the child, she would naturally call her 'mama.' " The child still cried for its mama, and GaiTon at length carried her away. Alfred took her, and with the boy she soon became composed. She laughed with him, and be- fore the day was passed she had learned to regard him with manifest affection. She seemed to regard him with more favor than she did the older people, though she still had spells of crying for her " mama." She said her name was Ella Dean. At the end of a week from the time of the wreck, Ella had become quite satisfied with her new home. She laughed and played with Alfred, smiled when Luke took her in his arms, and called Nepsey her " mama." Word had been sent out of the circumstance, but no one came to claim the little girl, and the light-keeper began to look upon her as his own. Her bright presence called new smiles to his face, and with Alfred upon one knee, and Ella upon the other, he loved to sit and laugh and play with his Storm Children. CHAPTER IV. A STRANGE TRANSACTION. Back of the beacon house, beneath the shade of the great oak, Luke Garron had made three graves, and within their silent chambers he deposited the remains of the females who had been brought to his house. He could find no clew to their names, and he simply raised a slab upon the spot, which bore upon its surface a simple record of the event that had transpired. He was firm in his conviction that neither of the women could have been the mother of Ella, for the child seemed to recognize only one of them, and all the rules of physiognomy set aside the supposition that that one could have been any kin to the girl. Two weeks had passed away, and Ella Dean was happy. She piped forth her joy- ous notes like a warbling bird, and with Al- fred by her side, she was happy. Sometimes she spoke of her " other mama," and tears would start to her eyes, and her little, lips would tremble; but a kiss from Alfred would dispel the cloud and light up her face with smiles agam. It was just after noon, on a pleasant day, and the two children were at play before the house. Luke Garron had gone down to his boat, and Nepsey was about her work in the building. Suddenly Alfred was startled by the appearance of three men who had come up through the path from the woods. One of them he recognized as the man who had been there two weeks before, and he was sadly frightened. Mairok Pettrell— for it was he — gazed a few moments on the boy, and then he went up to where he stood. " Your name is Alfred ? " said Pettrell. " Yes, sir." " Alfred Pettrell ? " coutinued the man. "No, no— Alfred Harrold," uttered the boy, trembling with fear. " No. Your name is Pettrell. You are my own son. Don't you remember me ? Don't you remember when we were cast away together ? " " Oh, no, no! I don't remember you! " cried the boy moving back with terror. " Good Luke Garron is ray father." " I declare," said one of Pettrell's com- panions, with a coarse laugh, " the boy doesn't know his own father. Well, blow me if that aint a rum go! " " It can't be expected, Bronkon," re- turned Pettrell, " for I haint seen the boy before for four years. But come, my son," he continued, turning toward Alfred, " you will go with me, now." " No, no! " exclaimed the boy. " I wont go with you. I'll go and find my father." Alfred started to run away as he spoke, but the man caught him by the arm. " Stop, stop, my boy. I am your father, and I have come to take you." Alfred cried with terror, and little Ella screamed and started towards the house. Nepsey came out to see what was the mat- ter, and at that same moment Luke Garron came up from his boat. " Father, father! " cried Alfred, breaking J2 THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. away from Pettrell and running to the light- keeper, " you wont let these ugly men take me away ? " Luke seemed to recognize Marrok Pet- trell at once, for his face turned pale, and he trembled. " Your name is Garron, I take it ? " said Pettrel], advancing towards Luke. • "Yes," returned the light-keeper, laying his hand upon the shoulder of the shrinking boy. '' Then I've come to get my son. That's him." " Your son! " repeated Garron. ' ' Yes. That youngster who seems to take fruch a fancy for you. He's my child — my -own blood, and I want him." " You cannot have him," firmly returned Luke. Marrok Pettrell laughed. " That is a go! " said Bronkon. " A queer business," added Pettrell, " for a father to be denied his own child." *' He is not your child," said Luke. " No; I am your own child — your own boy! " cried Alfred. '' Now you make me out a liar! " said Pet- trell. " Was not that boy thrown upon the coast here four years ago this spring ? " '* Yes," answered Luke, after a moment's hesitation. '' Of course he was; and it was my own vessel that was wrecked," resumed Pettrell. " I was washed ashore about six miles be- yond Porlock on a spare spar. I always thought my boy was lost till about a month ago, and then I heard that you had found him. Of course I knew it was my boy. Now I want him." Luke Garron trembled like an aspen, and he knew not what to do. The boy clung to him, and begged for his protection. '' You cannot — must not take him," ut- tered Garron, in despairing accents. "What; not have my own flesh and blood? " exclaimed Pettrell, with much sur- prise. " I do not believe" " Blow your belief," impatiently inler- riipted Pettrell. •' I want my boy, and that is enough for an honest man. Hope you do not want me to use force ? " The light-keeper doubled up his fists as he heard these words, and the muscles of his arms worked like big cords. The quick flush of anger, however, passed from his face, and he bore a look of the keenest an- guish. " Let me keep him," he said. In God's name I implore you let me keep him. He has become part of my very life, and I can- not part with him." " I'm really sorry to give you so much pain," coolly replied Pettrell; " but what is mine is mine, and I must have it; so the boy must come along." Garron stood and held the boy, but he had lost his firmness. Dark clouds passed over his features, and once his hand rested upon the pistol in his belt. "Come, Pettrell, take the boy, and let's be off," said Bronkon. Marrok Pettrell moved towards the place where the boy stood. "Keep back! " gasped Luke. " Lay not a hand upon him ! He is my child! " " Your child! " laughed Pettrell, in de- rision. " Mine by right of justice," continued Luke. " I saved him from the cold sea, and I have nursed and reared him from a little child. He's mine! mine! " " Not quite, so stop your foolery, and give me my boy." Pettrell caught Alfred by the arm as he spoke, and pulled him away from the light- keeper. " Save me! save me! Oh, for God's sake save me! " cried Alfred. Little Ella shrieked and ran into the house. In a moment all Luke's firmness returned to him. The cries of the loved boy over- came all other emotions but those of love for the child, and with one blow of his pow- erful fist he knocked Marrok Pettrell over on the greensward, and then seized the child in his arms. He had commenced a contest, however, which he could not carry out, for bolh the other incn .s[irang upon him, and a THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. blow from the butt of Bronkon's pistol laid iiim senseless upon the ground. When Luke Garron came to himself, old Nepsey was bending ov«r him, and little Ella was kneeling by his side. " Where— where — is my boy?" were his first words, as he arose to his elbow. "Gone! They've carried him offi " said the woman. The light-keeper sprang to his feet and gazed wildly about him. At that moment a body of horsemen, at the head of whom was the sheriff of Somer- set, came galloping tOAvards the house. " Have there been three men — three strangers — near here?" hastily asked the sheriff, as he pulled up his horse by the side of Luke. " Yes, yes," quickly returned Nepsey, while her master was collecting his senses. " And where are they now ? " " Gone off into the woods. Off that way," said the woman, pointing towards the path that led out into the Porlock road. " How long since ? " " Not over fifteen minutes." "Hold!" exclaimed Luke, as the sheriff was turning away; " who is it you seek? " " A fellow named Pettrell, and two of his men. They are smugglers." Oh, sir, bring me back the boy they have with them. They have stolen him away from me." " The boy I have seen here with you ? " " Yes — yes." " You shall have him if I can but find the As the officer spoke he turned his horse's head toward the wood, and his men followed him. Nepsey explained to her master how the men had seized Alfred and borne him off, and how he cried for help. The stout man shook as he heard the story, and he groaned with bitter anguish. Little Ella cried and talked about the '* ugly old men " till she had worried herself to sleep in Nepsey's lap. Till long after nightfall did Luke Garron sit upon a rock at the corner of his house and strain his aching eyes off towards the woods, and it was not until the darkness had fairly . set in that he thought of the beacon. When ! he did think of his neglected duty, he moved ■ very slowly to its performance, and heavy j sighs escaped from his lips. After he had i lighted the lamps in the beacon, he came < down and proceeded to the house. j " Garron," said Nepsey, after she had re- \ garded the anguish-wrought features of her master for some time in silence, " do you think that man is the father of Alfred ? " ; " No," returned Luke, with a sudden start. ' " Then what does all this mean ? " " Mean ? " repeated Luke. "Yes." ' " You see as well as I do." i " Then you have no idea of why that man wishes to take the boy away ? " The light-keeper looked up into Nepsey's i face, and a shudder ran through his frame. ] " Don't you think you have as much right j to the boy as this Pettrell has?" continued j the woman. \ Luke remained silent, "Tell me, Mr. Garron," persisted she, ] "have you not as much right to Alfred as j Pettrellhas ? " " You know I found the boy, and i*aved hia life," at length returned Luke; "and j that surely gives me good claim until another j is presented stronger. The ties of blood would outweigh the mere saving of life."' " But you don't believe there is any tie of blood between Pettrell and the boy ? '" " Tie of blood I " uttered the light-keeper, while he trembled more fearfully than be- fore. " Between Pettrell and the boy," added the woman, not seeming to notice the effect produced upon her master. " No, no, there can be none — none that I know." " Then make Pettrell prove his right to the boy." " It's too late now." " No. He will come back. I know the officers will overtake those men." " Do you think he will come back ? •' ask- ed Luke. Nepsey started at the strange tone of Gar- THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. ron's voice — it was so different from its usual strong and open volume. And then his mind, too, seemed to be so wandering, just as though he C(>uld not govern his thoughts. " I know he will come back," she answer- ed. " The men cannot turn from the path till they reach the road, atd the officers will overtake them before that. I'm sure Alfred will come back." " God send it." •' And now if he does come," resumed the woman, '"you won't let him go again ? Make Pettrell prove his right first. Oh, it is dread- ful to think of how the poor little fellow must suffer. If I had been a man he should never have gone as it was." "If Pettrell is -taken and -convicted of smuggling, he may be hanged! " exclaimed Luke, half starting from his chair. " Perhaps so," said Nepsey. " Then he will never come again for the boy." Nepsey was certainly puzzled by the man- ner of her master, and she showed it plainly in her looks. She did not have an oppor- tunity to speak, however, for at that moment the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard com- ing around the house. Luke sprang to his feet and rushed to the door, where he arrived just in season to see his boy sliding down from behind an officer. He caught the lad in his arms and lifted him to his bosom. " Did you catch the men ? " he asked of ttie rider. •' No; but the others are after them. We pressed them hotly, and they dropped the boy and took to the woods, so the sheriff sent me back with him. He's safe and sound, sir." The man rode off, and Luke returned into the house. Alfred was shaking with the ef- fects of his fear, but he soon grew calm; and then he related to his protector how the men had carried him off — how the officers came near overtaking them, and how they dropped him. '• Oh! " he uttered, " that man is not my father. I will never live with him. I would run away and come back to you, for I love you."' "Bless you, my boy, bless you!" ejacu- lated Garron, as he folded the boy to his bosom. " The officers may take the wicked man, and then he will trouble us no more." " 1 hope they will take him," said Alfred, " for Pettrell told me when he set me down in the woods, that he would have me if he had to die for it. He said I was his child."" Luke tried to assure the boy that he was safe, and at length the little fellow sought his bed. Garron remained in the house un- til nine o'clock, and then he went to see the light. The keeper stopped as he reached the yard in front of his house, and looked about him. The stars were glittering like tiny lamps in the heavens, and the breeze came in cool and refreshing from the broad Atlan- tic. The sea was capped by long, low swells, that broke mournfully upon the rocks; and after gazing for some time upon the dark bosom of the channel, Luke Garron moved slowly towards the beacon. His steps were heavy, and he seemed sad at heart. CHAPTER V. A TERRIBLE BLOW. We must now pass over eight years. In handling events of the past, such a step is easily taken, and though we fly. Parnassus- like over the gulf, yet we cannot hide the marks of change, nor the indelible foot-prints of old Time. Eight years! How simple the expression; and yet how important may have been the epoch. Kingdoms have been built in eight years, and in the same time great nations have fallen. In eight years what hosts of humanity have been swept away from the earth, and what countless numbers of beings have started fresh and strong in the race of life. Great hopes have ended in fruition, and greater hopes have been crushed. Many a flower has withered and died, and many a blossom has opened its leaves to the warm sun, in all the joyous- ness of sweet and happy life. Eight years have passed. Some men have grown better, THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. 15 — some have grown worse — and some stand like cold lumps of unimpressible granite, in the same spot upon the moral road; and there they will stand till a hand more pow- erful than the love of gain, shall snatch them away from a world that shall never miss them. Time has passed; yet the same immutable laws govern God's world of humanity. Sin has tlie same fitful glare, to dazzle the eyes of the fool, the same deep-laid snares for the unwary, and the same sharp thorns for its victims. Calm Virtue still holds in her hand the same lustrous lamp of holy flame, which no gale or storm can extinguish; her face still bears the same sweet smile, and her followers are still happy. •'■ With Luke'Garron time had made but lit- tle change. A few gray hairs have set themselves upon his head, and a few wrink- les have been marked upon his countenance; but he still bears the same noble, generous look, and his black eye is undimmed. With the Storm Children the change has been great. Alfred Harrold has grown to be a large boy, for he has just seen his six- teenth birthday. He is tall for his age, and his form has been developed in manly beauty. His hair is still glossy in its hue of light brown, and his eye is still light in its liquid blue. The very thought-marks upon his f^ir countenance show that he has stud- ied to some purpose, beneath the teachings of his generous protector. And little Ella, now smiling in her twelfth year. Oh, how beautiful, how lovely, and how happy I Her dark brown hair floats in glittering ringlets, and from out the depths of her soft, hazel eyes there shines the light of her whole affectionate heart. She w^alks where Alfred walks; she sits where Alfred sits; s-he reads in Alfred's books, and Alfred teaches her the same lessons he has been taught. When Alfred smiles upon her, she throws her little white arms about his neck and kisses him; and then they talk of love; such love as hearts feel Ihat know nothing beyond the world of purity and peace. Nepsey's step has grown slower and weak- er, but she has help from the children, and she loves to hear them laughing and talking about her. It was towards night on a day of early au- tumn. Luke and Alfred stood upon the bluff that overlooked the small cove. Ella had just gone into the house, for the evening air was becoming damp and cool. " She's a fine sailer," said Luke. " See how she slips along through the water." The light-keeper alluded to a brig that was coming up the Channel, and at which he and Alfred had been looking. " She is, indeed, a pretty craft," returned the youth. " Let me take the glass a mo- ment." Luke handed him the spy-glass, and he raised it to his eye. " She has no ports, but I think I can see guns upon her deck," he said. "Guns!" uttered Luke. " You must be mistaken. Let me look." Luke took the glass. "No," he resumed, after he had looked a few moments; "those are not guns. They are water-casks." " But what do you make her out to be? " asked Alfred. " She does not look like a government vessel, nor does she look like a trader." " She may be one of those Yankee traders bound up to Bristol," said Luke, still looking through his glass. "But she's got no load," suggested the youth. "She may have come from Brest. Ah, what's that ? She's luffing, as sure as the world." The wind was southwest, and the brig had been leaving it upon her starboard quarter; but as the old man spoke, she had put her holm down , and was hauling in her lee braces — and her head was consequently coming about towards the promontory. "What can she want here?" Luke con- tinued. " It may be a smuggler, who thinks to land his goods above here," said Alfred. At the mention of that word, Luke Garron trembled. Alfred noticed it, and he looked earnestly into the old man's face. 16 THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. Again Luke levelled his glass; but the deepening shades of evening dimmed the view, and he could see the brig's deck but indistinctly. "She's entirely in the wind now," said Alfred. " Yes; and there goes her anchor." The two watchers could see the brig's sails were being clewed up, and that her yards were braced to the wind. It became too dark to see more, and the light-keeper turned towards the house, whither Alfred followed him. Soon afterwards the great lamps were lighted in the beacon, and then Luke re- paired to the sitting-room. At eight o'clock Ella went to bed; but a strange fear had seized upon the mind of Alfred, and he could not think of sleep. He did not think of sliding off into the woods, but he tried to quell the rising alarm by endeavoring to per- suade himself that all was safe. It was nine o'clock, and Luke had just arisen for the purpose of going to look after ihe beacon light, when he was startled by the sound of footsteps and voices in front of the house. A moment afterwards there came a knocking upon the door, and Nepsey went to see who was there. Luke Garron sank back into a chair, and Alfred sprang to his side, as Marrok Pettrell entered the room ! He was followed by four men, two of whom were the same that at- tended him eight years ago, "A pleasant evening to you," said the smuggler. Luke did not speak. " Can't ye welcome an old friend ? " con- tinued Pettrell. "Do not profane that sacred name," said Garron, clutching his hands in nervous anx- iety; " but tell me what you seek? " " I've come to seek what I lost eight years ago," returned Pettrell, casting a peculiar look upon Alfred. " You mean the boy ? " "Yes." "Then you can go as you went then." " Without him ? " " Yes." "No, no, Mr. Garron; I've come now to some purpose. The boy's grown to be a stout fellow, and he'll be of service to me. He's my own son, and have him I'm deter- mined to." " Marrok Pettrell" "Ah," interi'upted the smuggler, '-how do you know me so well ? " Garron changed color; but he soon over- came the emotion, and returned: — " I've heard your name from the revenue officers." "Ah! Then you have heard my name used rather lightly. But it's the fate of hon- est men to be maligned. Come, Master Al- fred, you must ship under your father's flag for the future." "Not under yours! " returned the boy. " There's spunk," said Bronkon, with his usual coarse laugh. " Ay, and I shall like him the better for it," added Pettrell. " You cannot have the lad," said Luke Garron, who had assumed a fearless look, and arisen from his chair. " You know that he is not your child, and that you have no earthly right to him." " Avast a bit, Mr. Garron. Where did you get the boy? " " I saved him from the wreck of a vessel years ago." "Yes, and he was my child, and I lost him. Great guns and thunder! do j'ou think yourself the owner of everjthing you find ? I'm really obliged to you for the care you've' taken of the youngster, and perhaps I'll pay you sometime; but for the present I think I'll take my property to my own keeping. So come along. Master Alfred! " " Never! " said the youth. " That's good," contemptuously returned the smuggler; and then, while a darker shade settled upon his features, he added: — "But mark }e, my boy — not having had you under my protection, perhaps I might not be so tender of ye as you've been used to. You'll find it pleasant sailing if you keep your sails trimmed right; but if you are going to lay your canvass aback, you'd bet- ter look out for squalls. Do you understand that ? " THE STORM CHILDREN: OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. Alfred was bold, and his heart was strong in moral right, but he had been tenderly reared, and he shuddered as he met the gaze of Pettrell, and heard his portentous words. " I don't s'pose there's any need of more talk," resumed the smuggler, as he moved towards Alfred. " I have c^me after my boy, and I don't think 'twill be for your good to make any resistance." Luke Garron gazed upon the smuggler, and then he turned his eyes upon Alfred. His face had turned as pale as death, and he trembled at every joint. "I will not leave you, father,'" cried the youth, throwing his arms about the old nian's neck. Garron started back and drew his pistol. It trembled a moment in his hand, and then he put it back again in his belt. " Do not take him! Oh, do not!"' he ut- tered, as he strained the boy to his bosom. "Garron,'' said the smuggler, while his features softened in their expression, "you ask of me an impossibility. The boy is mine — I want him — and I must have him. Now there's no use in saying another word. You know there's no law on earth that would give yoti a right above my claim. I've got nothing against you. I forgive you for the blow you struck me eight years ago: but don't raise your hand to do such a thing again."" "I cannot — will not gol " exclaimed Al- fred. "You'll go with your father ?" said the smuggler, coaxingly. "• Out upon you! you miserable, wretched, vile, mean, disgraceful, wicked vagabond! " cried old Nepsey, springing from her seat. "There isn't a drop of your blood in that boy's veins, you know there isn't! " ■• What a Tartar! '' exclaimed Broukon. •• Tartar, or not Tartar, I'm an honest woman; and God knows you came villains from your cradles! " Xepsey grasped the back of her chai; ; but she was old and weak, and she soon settled back into her chair. " .\lfred— my bo}— my son," whispered Luke Garron, while the smuggler's attention was turned towards Nepsey, " 1 cannot save you now; you must go with Pettrell. But forget not my counsels — escape if you can, and come to me. I do not believe he is your father. Oh, what a blo'v is this! I have loved you, but fate is against me! Go, Alfred — go! God bless you now and ever! Do not speak to me; do not let me hear your voice again, for I cannot Ijear it! " Deep sobs choked the old man's utterance, and he sank pow-erless into a chair. Big tears rolled down his cheeks, and his head was bowed. Alfred clung to him with fran- tic energy, but he found no language for the emotioiis of his soul. "Come.*' '' The boy started as he felt the hand of Pettrell laid upon his arm. " Come, my boy." Alfred looked up, and as he met the gaze of the smuggler he sank upon his knees. Two strong men lifted him up and bore him away, but Luke saw not the movement. It was well he did not, for he had already more misery heaped upon his heart than he could bear. At length the outer door was closed, and the tramp of feet sank lower in the distance. The old man raised his head. He and Xep- sey were alone. " Is he gone ? " he whispered. " Yes,"' returned the woman.'* Luke groaned, and covered his face with his hands. Shortly afterwards he went out and ascended to the beacon, and there he remained through the long night. Early in the morning Xepsey went to look after her master. She found him -stretched across one of the stout oaken braces in the top of the beacon, in a deep sleep. It was not yet open daylight, but the great lamp had gone out. and the wicks were. stiff and cold. The woman aroused him and he started to his feet. He rubbed his eyes and gazed about him, and then he sank upon tiie oak- en brace, and bowed his head upon his breast. Xepsey took him by the baud to lead him down. He arose, and with tremb- ling steps he followed her. Ella came forth to seek her playmate; THE STORM CHILDREN: OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. but she could not find him. Nepsey told her Alfred had gone. •' But he will come back. He will come to see his Ella," the girl cried. And she ran to the old man's side, and asked him if Alfred would not come back. For the sake of that sweet girl, the light- keeper kept back his heavy grief; but he could not wholly deceive her. She feared that Alfred would not come back, and she cried with an aching heart. Pen cannot paint such sorrow as had fall- en upon the old man and that bright-eyed child. Only the human heart can bear its impress; and to know it the heart must feel it. When Luke walked out upon the bluff, the brig which had been there the night before had gone. No traces were left of her, save the pangs that dwelt with the memory of her presence, in his own bosom. CHAPTEE VI. THE SMUGGLER. Alfred Harrold (such was the name be had borne since he lived with Luke Gar- ron, and so we call him) spoke not a word as he was being led down to the water. Once he struggled to free himself from the hold that was upon him; but the movement was in vain, and he tried it not a second time. When his conductors reached the eove, they put him on board a boat that was made fast there, and soon he was moving towards the brig. It was too dark when he passed over the gangway for him to distin- guish objects about the deck, and he fol- lowed Pettrell down the after hatchway into the cabin. A hanging-lamp was burning there, and as the door closed behind them, Pettrell turned to the youth. '' Novr," said he, " you are where you by right belong. I am master here, and my will is law. I am your parent, and I shall expect from you a child's obedience. If you choose not to give me that, however, I shall demand subjection of another sort. Can you understand ? " Alfred was silent. He gazed into the hard features of Marrok Pettrell, but he knew not what to reply. " Will you not answer me ? " sternly ut- tered the smuggler. " I have no finswer to make." "I asked ^if you understood what I had said?" Alfred Harrold had seen many storms — he had passed throtigh many dangers, and more than once on the rotigh coast had he dis- played a fearlessness that might have be- come a bold man. He had dared the heavy sea when men were in danger, and he had never shrank. His heart was strong now, and, as he gradually arose above the first stunning effects of the blow he had received, he felt a moral power that made him fear- less. •' I have heard you speak," he said, " and I think I know what you mean." " So far, so good," returned Pettrell, show- ing by his looks that he was a little surprised at the boy's lofty manner. "And how -do you think you can obey me ? " " I can tell better when I know your com- mands." " Ah! You are putting your foot on dan- gerous ground." " I feel that, sir." '• Then you had better beware! " '• But it was you who brought me to the dangerous ground." "You twist my meaning, youngster. I meant that your tongue was leading you into danger; so look out how you use it." " I shall not be impudent, sir; but it is ray right — a right given to me by God him- self, through Christ, my Teacher — to main- tain my integrity and my honor." " P-h-e-w! " whistled Pettrell, with a look of contempt; but a close observer could have seen that his contempt was assumed. " You are bold for one of your years. But let me assure you of one thing: I stand your pres- ent talk with easy grace for me, but be care- ful that you don't show your independence before the men. It will be well for you to remember this. And now what do you know of sea matters ? " THK STORM CHILDREN; OK, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. "Enough to sail a ship from here to Bristol." '' Ah. You will be useful, then. Is Luke Garrou a seaman ? " 'f Few men know more of the sea." " lie has followed the sea, then ? " '* lie must have followed it at some time." " Then I may thank him for teaching you seamanship, for such knowledge will be of much service to me. Your morality I ad- vise you to keep for your own use." The youth's eyes flashed, for the diaboli- cal sneer of the man cut him to the soul. " For the present," continued Pettrell, " you will take up your quarters in the cabin. I won't trust you in the forecastle yet. You can come on deck if you wish, but remember what I have said." Pettrell turned and went on deck. For some minutes Alfred stood and gazed at the vacant spot wliere he had last seen the smuggler, and then his mind reverted to the terrible calamity that had befallen him. He staggered back and sank upon a low stool. It must have been full half an hour that the boy sat in one position and wept. He thought of his kind protector, and his soul was torn with anguish. He thought of Ella, and his heart sank into the burning depths of utter misery. He reflected that he might never again see those bright eyes — that he might never more behold that sweet face^-that that beaming, happy smile would never again light his joy — and he groaned aloud. Thexi his thoughts dwelt upon the present — and then ran into the future, and he shuddered. Then came back to his mind those words that Luke had whispered in his ear. " He is not my father! " he uttered, while his hands were clasped in an agony of hope. A strange expression, perhaps — but that boy did experience, at that moment, an agonij of hope! He hoped the wicked man was not his father, aud yet the hope was all agony. At length Alfred started to his feet. He brushed the tears from his face, and then he clasped both his hands upon his heart. " Actio7i!^^ he murmured, as he turned his eyes towards heaven. " If this be God's will, then let it be done This is a fearful storm indeed; but I will face it while I have strength. Yes, my kind, generous protect- or, I will not turn from the path that leads to the beacon! God be with me, and guide me! There— I feel stronger now! " A pure, a holy light shone upon the face of the boy as he now stood there in the smuggler's cabin, and he had fixed upon the course he would pursue. The details of that course he could not lay out, but he knew the object he had in view, and he only prayed for strength to sustain him in the endeavor. He felt the strength of a man in his soul, and his good muscles were strung for the trial. When Alfred had so far regained his pres- ence of mind as to turn his thoughts upon outward things, he found from the sound upon the deck that the men were heaving up the anchor. The atmosphere of the cabin seemed hot and oppressive to him, and he ascended the ladder. He could see the dusky forms of many men moving about the deck, and he could see the topsails were sheeted home and the yards mast-headed. The youth turned his gaze towards the shore; the dark outlines of the bluff were just visible, and beyond he saw the bright light of the beacon. He gazed upon the light for a moment, and then he bent his head and covered his face. " Found the way on deck, eh ? " Alfred looked up and found Marrok Pet- trell by his side. " A free and jolly life is before you," con- tinued the captain, " so you had better make up your mind to enjoy it." The youth had no answer to return, aud Pettrell turned his attention to the working of the brig. The anchor had broken ground, and the vessel was soon put upon the lar- board tack and standing towards the coast of Wales. Alfred remained on deck half an hour, when he went back to the cabin. He crawled into the narrow berth that had been pointed out to him, and at length he slept. It was broad daylight when Alfred awoke, 20 THE STORM CHILDREN: OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL and again he passed through an ordeal of Boul harrowing thought and reflection; but he knew that repining would never aid him, and uttering forth a simple prayer to God, he arranged his dress and went on deck. The brig he found was a large one ; and he found, too, that what he had taken for guns the night before, were, as Luke had said, nothing but water-casks. Yet he thought he could detect upon either side of the deck the marks of carriage wheels, and they ran at right angles with portions of the bulwarks that seemed made for moving in case of need. There were twenty-five men besides the captain on board. They were all stout fellows, and looked reckless enough. for any calling that might turn up; yet some of them showed passing signs of respectable good nature in their countenances. Reckless they were, but not all so hard-hearted as the cap- tain. There was one countenance, however, that seemed more repulsive than all the rest —and that was Bronkon's. He was a dark featured, powerful man, with a coarse, wick- ed expression of countenance, and he seemed to smile only when he saw misery about him. He was the second in command, and seemed a fit mate for the smuggler captain. The morning was bright and clear; when Alfred reached the deck he found that the brig was just passing between Hartland Point and Lundy Island, with a fresh breeze from the eastward. "Well, my boy, suppose I put you on one of the watches," said Pettrell, after he had allowed the youth sufficient time to look about him. " We don't have idlers here." "You can do as you please," returned Alfred, conquering, with strong effort, his indignation. " Then I shall put you in the starboard watch with myself. Your limbs show a pretty good quantity of muscle, and I think we'll show you how to use 'em. I tell you, Alfred, I think myself lucky in finding you." " More lucky, probably, than I am in being found," returned the youth. " That depends upon circumstances. You can make it lucky enough if you choose. Just let me give you a piece of advice: Learn to take the world just as you find it." "That's the doctrine, youngster," said Bronkon, who stood near. " Take it as you find it, and make the most of it." " I shall endeavor to get along the best way I can," answered Alfred. " My life so far has not been without its storms, and 1 have weathered them all. Of one thing you may rest assured; there is no fear of com- mon danger hanging about my heart." " Very good for a beginning," said Pet- trell. " That's the right kind of a spirit, if you only use it in the right way. But we shall see." As the captain turned away, Alfred re- flected upon the course before hirh, and he was not long arriving at the deterrhination to perform a seaman's duty to the best of his ability. He found himself placed in a position where he was not responsible for the business of the voyage, and from whence there was no present escape ; so he knew no blame could attach to him so long as he laid not his hand to that which was really evil. He was most emphatically in a position where there were but two choices, and both of them evil. He chose that which offered the least evil. CHAPTER VIL THE BATTLE. Alfred Harrold showed himself a good seaman, and though Pettrell seemed pleased with the manner in which he did his duty, yet he treated the youth with an)-- thing but kindness. He did not really abuse him, but his manner was unfeeling and coarse, and he was angry when Alfred re- fused to acknowledge him as a father. Among the men, however, the youth had made many friends. They could not but love one who was so kind and forbearing, though they were incapable of appreciating the moral feelings that gave source to the kind- ness they loved. Months passed away, and Alfred became more accustomed to his ocean home. The sharper points of his anguish were worn off; but his heart still turned with longing love towards the old light- THE STORM CHILDKP:X: OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. 21 keeper, and he dreamed sweet dreams, both sleeping and waking, of the bright-eyed Ella. The brig went to Canton and took in part of a load of silks, and then touched at Su- matra and filled up with spices; and in nine months from the time of her leaving the liristol Channel she was again upon the coast of England, and the season was sum- mer. Alfred knew that the brig's cargo was \o be smuggled ou shore, and from remarks that he had heard, he knew that Pettrell had trusty agents in Lancashire. The brig had entered the Irish Sea, and with a fresh breeze from the north-west was heading in towards the mouth of the river Kibble. It was near noon, when one of the men in the foretop reported a sail to the southeast. A consultation was held between Pettrell and Bronkon, and it was decided to stand on. The smuggler was now heading due east, and was not far from fifty miles from Lancashire coast. " It may be only some trader coming out from Liverpool," said Bronkon. " Very likely," returned the captain. And as he spoke, he levelled his glass upon the object of his consultation. '' She's a schooner, I think,"' said he, as he lowered his glass and turned towards his mate. •' If it should be one of those infernal cut- ters," muttered Bronkon. '• She's heading this way," resumed Pet- trell, again levelling his glass. •' Then she's a revenue hound, as sure as fate," said the mate. " Let me take the glass ? " Bronkon looked for several minutes, and when he lowered the glass a defiant smile broke over his coarse features. "She's a revenue craft," he said. "I know her well, and shouldn't wonder if she knew us. We had better haul on the wind and lay up for Morecambe." The captain assented to the proposal, and the brig's head was put up accordingly. " We sha'n't get clear," muttered Pettrell. •• She gains ou us." "If she must come, then let her come," returned Bronkon. An hour passed, and the schooner was not two miles distant. Her guns could be seen peeping out from her sides, and it could also be seen that she carried a large number of men. " This is going to be an ugly job," said the smuggler captain, pacing the deck with nervous strides. " But we must make the best of it," cool- ly returned Bronkon. " They won't take us without a blow, at all events," resumed Pettrell. " Waffon, get up the playthings." The man who was thus addressed hurried below, and ere long he had brought pistols and cutlasses enough on deck for all the men, and the crew proceeded at once to arm them- selves. During this time Alfred had been a silent spectator of the scene. He saw that a fight with the schooner was inevitable, and his heart sank within him as he reflected upon the unfortunate position in which lie was placed. He had hoped to reach the coast in safety, and there he determined to make good his escape, if possible ; but this was a contingency he had not anticipated. " Come, Alfred, arm yourself," said Pet- trell. " We shall want your good arm in the coming conflict." Alfred hesitated. " You'd better," fell in low tones from Bronkon's lips. A reply arose to Alfred's lips; but he sup- pressed it and went to the arm-chest. He took a cutlass and buckled its belt about his waist, and took a pair of the heavy pistols. " There," said Pettrell, as he saw the youth armed, " now we will initiate you." Just as the smuggler spoke there came a shot from the schooner, and passed through the mainsail. " Rather a pressing invitation for us to heave to," said Bronkon. " And I think I shall do it," said Pettrell. " There is no use in running any further. That schooner doesn't carry over forty men. We are twenty six— twenty-seven with Al- fred — and I reckon we can give them a hard pull. 22 THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. Another shot from the pursuing schooner, and in a few minutes afterwards the brig was hove to. " NoAv let her come up," said the captain, as he looked around on his men. "Stand by, now, to take the first advantage, my boys. Remember that the enemy have the trouble of boarding. Have both pistols out for them the moment they show themselves over the rail." Alfred seemed to have been forgotten in the excitement of the occasion. He stood near the larboard quarter rail, and he was gazing abstractedly upon the schooner, which was now almost alongside. " Brig ahoy! " came from the revenue cruiser. " What do 5'ou want ? " returned Pettrell. " I want you to surrender. Isn't that brig the 'Adder'?" "Yes." ■ " Then I'll take you to Liverpool." " Come and try it! " ' ." Do you mean to show fight? " " Come and seel " was Pettrell's laconic reply. The schooner was too near to use her guns, for she sat much lower in the water than did the brig, and she ranged up on the starboard side. Her men were ready for the leap, and the moment she touched they sprang for the siiiuggler's deck. " Fire! " shouted Pettrell. The smugglers poured in their volley on the boarders, and the effect was destructive. Eight of the schooner's men fell back upon their own deck, and for a few moments there was a suspension of further action. The schooner had now ranged fully alongside; again the revenue officer urged his men on. " Fire! " shouted Pettrell. Not over six of the boarders were knocked back by this fire, and the rest, to the num- ber of twenty-seven, came rushing over the brig's bulwarks. The smugglers had fired their pistols, and ihey now had only their cutlasses upon which to depend, for they could not stop to reload. The boarders, on the other hand, had their pistols loaded, and they used them to good effect. *' Remember — the gallows if you are taken!" cried Bronkon, as he swung his heavy cutlass over his head and cut down a man who was before him. " At them, boys! Clear the ' Adder's' deck of the hounds! " The smugglers fought desperately, and they had desperate foes to contend with. Pettrell was the commander, but Bronkon was the genius of the battle. Alfred had not yet moved. The clang of the cutlasses rang with a deafening noise in his ears, and the fumes of gunpowder were hanging about him. "While he stood thus, a great burly fellow rushed upon him " Ah, you smuggling son of a gun.'' yelled the assailant, " take that! " It was a fierce blow that the big revenue man aimed at Alfred's head; but quick as thought the blow was dodged. With an in- stinctive movement the youth drew his own cutlass. His pistols were yet in his belt, and both of them were charged. Again the assailant swept his cutlass about his head, and his blow was coming down upon the youth. Alfred's brain whirled for a mo- ment with its conflicting emotions; but the hope of life triumphed. That was not a moment to think of causes or consequen- ces; he caught the eye of the stout man, and slipping quickly upon one side, he sank upon his knee and warded off the blow. The same movement of the cutlass that threw off the man's weapon brought the point up against his bosom, and with one powerful thrust Alfred laid his adversary upon the deck. But he had no time to reflect upon what he had done, for at that moment Bronkon backed up against him with two of the reve- nue men driving at him. The smuggler mate was wounded upon the left ann, and there was a deep gash across his cheek, from which the blood was flowing copiously. He looked terrible in his gory features, but he was failing in strength. At the next blow he made, his cutlass was knocked from his grasp, and one of his assailants leaped upon him, and bent him back over the trunk of the cabin companion-way, while the other drove at him with his cutlass. THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEI'ER OF THE CH.VNNEL. " God have mercy I " ejaculated Bronkon, in frantic tones; and as he spoke, his eyes rested upon Alfred. There was a most imploring look in those rolling eyes, and Alfred could not withstand thoir silent appeal. It would have been fearful to see Bronkon killed as he then lay, and the youth entertained but a single thought as he dwelt upon the scene. His still reeking cutlass came down with a dead- ly blow upon the head of him who was about to strike, and with a pistol he shot the other through the temple. The act was more impulsive than premeditated; it was the silent look of appeal from Bronkon that influenced his soul, and whatever might be the result, he could not resist assistance in the man's hour of desperate need. Bronkon arose to his feet, and gazed upon the face of the youth to whom he so sig- nally owed his life. " Alfred, I owe you one! " he said. At that moment the boarders cried out for quarter, and the conflict stopped. Only twelve of the revenue men were alive to return to their schooner, and the majority of them were wounded. The brig had lost ten men, having sustained not half the loss of the other. Ere long the vessels were clear of each other, Pettrell having first, however, chopped the schooner's masts off near the deck, so that she could not run too soon with the news. The dead were sewed up in hammocks and lowered over the side, the decks washed, and once more the brig turned her head towards the Kibble. "Alfred," said Pettrell, "you behaved nobly." The youth started from the painful reverie into which he had fallen, and gazed up into the face of the smuggler captain. " Death and destruction!" uttered Bron- kon, " but the youngster's arm served me most truly. I should have been food for sharks before now, but for him. Alfred, / owe you one! " •' You are worth more than I thought," .ailded Pettrell. " Fore heaven, if you don't lome on woll! " A dark shadow passed over the captain's face as he spoke, and a sort of demoniac triumph rested upon his features. Alfred Harrold turned away sick at heart. He shuddered at the thought of what he had done, but in his own soul he felt guiltless, and he knew that the blame must rest upon other shoulders than his. His earnest pray- er was, that he might get clear of his pres- ent state of dreadful bondage. CHAPTER VIII. ESCAPE.— A STRANGE ACQUAINTANCE. It was nearly midnight when the brig's anchor dropped at the mouth of the Kibble, in a small cove near the outskirts of Kirk- ham, and as soon as her sails were clewed up, a blue light Avas hoisted at her foreti'uck, and a red one at her main. It was nearly three o'clock, however, before any notice was taken of these signals, but at that hour three large boats came alongside. " You are a long while getting off," said Pettrell, to one of the men who came up from a boat. " We didn't see the signals till an hour ago, and then we had to collect the men." " How many have you got ? " ''What — men?" "Yes." " There's eighteen of us." "That will do; but we must hurry. I have only fifteen men left. We've had a brush with a revenue dog today, and it's thinned us down. Everj'thing is ready ashore, isn't it?" " Yes," returned the man from the shore, who was none other than the smuggler's agent, named John Pullen. The goods can be carried right to town. Three of the ex- cise outriders are with us, so that coast ia clear," Most of the men were called up from the boats, a " yard and stay " whip-and-runner was rigged, and then all hands turned to at breaking out the cargo, which was hoisted into the boats alongside. The men worked smartly, and in less than five hours the THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. whole cargo was safely landed on shore. Alfred watched in vain for an opportunity to get away from the brig, for as soon as she was clear she got up her anchor and made sail, Pettrell not daring to I'emain so near the scene of his late conflict. Arrange- ments were made with the agent, however, to meet the brig at a small rocky bay on the coast of Cumberland, some eight miles north of Whitehaven, and towards that place the smuggler made her way without being dis- turbed. The wind had hauled around to the west- ward, and the brig reached her destination early in the evening, and shortly after the sails had been furled Pettrell went on shore ; but before he went, however, he gave some whispered orders to his mate. After the deck had been cleared up a quarter watch was set, Bronkon taking care that Alfred was stationed with himself. In each of these watches there were only three men, and they wei^ merely set to keep a lookout for any boats that might come off, and also to look after the moorings. The small bay in which the brig lay was not over a mile wide at the mouth, and where the smuggler was moored the dis- tance from shore to shore was not over half a mile. She lay with her stern in towards the extremity of the bay, which was about a mile distant. On either shore were huge masses of rocks, with only an occasional break of .sandy beach, while beyond the country vras hilly and well covered with stunted oak. Not far from the head of the inlet. Alfred had noticed, as the brig first entered, a number of small houses, and towards these the captain had gone. Pettrell had taken seven men with him in the boat, so that only nine were left on board, and Bronkon set them in three watches, with two hours to each watch. His own watch came from ten to midnight, and with him were Waffon and Alfred. Only a few remarks passed between Bronkon and the youth during the two hours. The form- er seemed ill at ease in the presence of the lad who had saved his life, and the latter was busy with his own thoughts. Midnight came and the watch was relieved. Alfred still bunked in the cabin, and thither he went, Bronkon and Waffon keeping him company. The youth turned into his berth, but it was not to sleep. He lay so that he could see the mate, and he at length became assured that that iudividual was watching him. He remembered the whisperings of the captain, and he doubted not that he him- self had been the object of it, and that Bronkon had been instructed to have an eye to all his movements. Waffon was soon asleep, but the mate still kept his eyes open, and ever anon Alfred could see their bright balls shining on him. At first the youth thought it might be the pain of Bronkon's wounds that made him thus wakeful; but then he knew those wounds had not kept him from his duty, and besides, he showed no signs of suffering. At length Alfred turned over in his bunk and gave a sleepy yawn, and ere long he began to breathe that long, heavy, sonorous breath peculiar to sound sjeep. The ruse took, for ere many minutes there was a nestling in the mate's berth, as though his limbs were being composed for rest, and not long afterwards he began to snore. Alfred turned carefully over in his bunk and looked forth. By the dim light of the hanging-lamp, one small wick of which was burning, he could see that Bronkon was asleep. He waited a moment, and then he slipped noiselessly from his berth. With quick, self-possessed movements he rolled his heavier clothing into a small bundle, and tied it up in a handkerchief, and then he crept to the cabin windows. They swung on hinges at the top, and opened outward by means of a lanyard rove through an eye above the frame. The youth unhasped one of the windows and carefully hoisted it. There was a creak- ing of the hinge, and Bronkon moved in his bunk. Alfred still held the lanyard, and re- mained quiet, and again the mate settled in- to his undisturbed slumber. The youth listened for a moment to hear if the watch were moving on deck and he had the satisfaction of hearing all three of THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. 2> them conversing in one of the gangways. He knew there was not a moment to be lost, and taking his bundle between his teeth, he crept stealthily out through the window, from which he could just reach the falls .of the starboard davit. This had been left hanging when the captain's boat had been lowered, and from its lower block the youth could easily drop into the water without a noise,. Upon the sill he waited a moment, but no one had been aroused; and with a fervent prayer upon his lips he reached forth till he could grasp the fall, and then he let his body swing off. There was a slight creeking of the davit sheeves, but no one was startled by the sound, and noiselessly he let himself down into the water. For some minutes Alfred worked his way very slowly from the brig; but at length he took courage and struck boldly out for the southern shore of the inlet. It was too dark for those on board the brig to see him now, for Alfred could but distinguish the bare out- lines of the vessel, and without more fear of detection, he swam on with all his strength. The distance was not great, and the brave fellow reached the shore in safety, happen- ing luckily to come upon one of the sand bars that made out from between the rocks. AVhen he reached the rising ground he found it somewhat difficult to make his way through the shrubby wood; but having put on his outer clothing and drawing on his boots, he pushed on. He had some idea of the direction of Whitehaven road, for he knew that it was not over a mile from the head of the bay; so he took a south-easterly course, thinking to strike the highway at a safe distance from the houses he had seen near the shore. For two hours Alfred pushed on through the intricate wood, and just as he was be- •.'inning to despair of finding the road, he espied an opening ahead. When he reached it. he found himself in the highway he was seeking. In half an hour more he reached the market town of Whitehaven— but he did not stop. None of the people were yet stirring, and he hastened on through the place, thinking that ho would find some peasant's cot where he could rest and re- fresh himself. When Alfred had fairly cleared from the town, the first red streaks of morning were rising in the east, and ere long daylight was dancing over the country. From the top of a small eminence the youth saw another large town before him, which could not have been over five miles from the one he had left. To the right, just west of the town, he saw the massive ruins of an old castle, lifting its ragged battlements against the sky, the ivy-bound towers of which were catching the first rays of the sun, while ahead he saw the banks of a murmuring river. He knew the town must be Egre- mont — that the river was Eden, and that the smugglers had secret agents in the place. Through Egremont Alfred determined to make his way without stopping. It was nearly six o'clock when he reached the town, and it was half -past six when he had cleared its southern confines. He felt hun- gry and fatigued, but he dared not stop within the town. At eight o'clock he came to an inn — a small, out-of-the-way place, and here he stopped. He had some money with him — money which he had been col- lecting to serve him in case of need— so he had no need of suffering with want. The landlord of the inn was not a type of landlords generally, for he was a thin, sal- low-visaged man; but yet he appeared good- natured enough for all necessary business purposes. Alfred made known his wants, and a substantial breakfast was soon pre- pared for him. Just as he sat down he heard a rattling of wheels at the door, and upon looking out at the window, he saw a post chaise that had driven up. " Young man." said the landlord, opening the door of the room in which our hero was eating, "you'll have to make room for a companion at the table, for a gentleman has just come as wants his breakfast in a great hurry." Without stopping to receive Alfred's an- swer, the landlord introduced the stranger, and then went for more victuals. The new-comer was a man .some .xixty THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. years of age, dressed in a garb of fine blue broadcloth, with heavy gold buttons. He wore a cap with a heavy gold baud, and a superb sword was hanging from a silken belt about his waist. Alfred knew that the but- tons bore the arms of the royal navy, but he was at a loss to make out the rank of the wearer. " Beautiful morning,"' said the stranger, seeming raised to a communicative mood by the flavor of his coffee, which lie sipped with evident relish. "Very," returned Alfred, with com- posure. The old gentleman ate a piece of buttered toast very slowly for a hungry man, and at intervals he looked inquisitively into Alfred's face. " Are you from the north ? " he asked, as he helped himself to a second slice of toast. '* Yes," returned Alfred, with some em- barrassment. Again the stranger looked into the youth's face more earnestly than before. " Do you belong about here ? " he asked. " No, sir." " I thought not. You look more of the southern blood." Alfred returned the earnest gaze of his companion, and he soon made up his mind that he had nothing to fear, for the old gen- tleman was kind looking, and his voice was smooth and mild. " You mustn't think me impertinent," re- sumed the stranger, " but really I would like to know from what part of England you come?" *'If I were at home, sir, I should be in Devonshire." "Ah, then you were born in Devon- shire ? " The speaker seemed disappointed. Alfred hesitated. At length a vague idea broke over his mind that the stranger might have discovered some family likeness in his countenance, and a dim ray of hope broke in upon his soul. " I do not know that I was born in Devon- shire, sir; but I was brought up in that county." The old man sat down his coffee-cup and wiped his mouth, and then he looked again into Alfred's face. "' I'm making myself interested on a short acquaintance," he said, while a faint smile rested upon his features; " but the truth is, your features put me in mind of one whom I once knew. Will you tell me what you know of your birth-place ? " •• Nothing, sir," returned Alfred, in an earnest, anxious tone. '' What of your parents, then ? " •• Nothing." •' Of your early life, then ? " •' At four years of age, sir, I was cast away upon Little Devon Head. I was saved from the wreck by the light-keeper there, and with him I lived till about a year ago.'' •' There isn't much light in that," uttered the old gentleman. ">You don't know whom you were with previous to your being cast away ? " •^ Yes, sir. It was a man who called him- self my father. His name was Marrok Pettrell." •' Now you talk! " exclaimed the stranger, with a sudden energy. " I' faith, I'm not so wild in my reading features as I had feared. Did you ever come across a com- panion that this Pettrell had, a fellow named Mark Bronkon ? " "Yes, yes!" " Can you tell me where those two chaps are now ? " For some time Alfred remained silent. He thought over the events of the past, and at length he made up his mind to tell his whole story to the man before him. "'The recital could in no way endanger himself, and it might benefit him; so he related the principal events of the past year, together with the present Avhereabouts of the smug- gler, and his recent escape from her. The old gentleman thumped upon the table with the handle of his knife for several moments after Alfred had concluded his story. " Now tell me, sir," said the youth, with trembling voice, " what you know of me or mine ? ■' THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. 27 " That scamp of a Pettrell is no more your father than I am." '* But of my fathei- — my Irue father — can you tell me ? " " Not anything that you would wish at present to know." " Anything — anything wouUl hless me." '• You are not so sure of that, my youns man," said the old gentleman, as he arose from the table. " I will help you, however; and in the end I think you will find I am the most wise." chaise is waiting, and I must he off. You can easily reach Ravenglass by noon, and there you will find a coach for Lancaster. When there you will take the mail cor.ch ou the great Manchester road, and your route will be direct. Don't fail, now, to do as I have hid. I will look up matters for you when I return. Have you money enough to carrv vou through ? " ••Yes, sir." ^ •'Then take care of yourself. You will find your confidence in me worth more than ALFRED'S BREAKFAST, AND A STRANGE ACQUAINTANCE. He touched the table bell as he spoke, and the landlord soon made his appearance. "Let me have pen, ink and paper," said the stranger. The materials were soon brought, and the old gentleman .sat down to the tal)le and wrote. "When the note was finished he fold- ed and directed it. " Here,"" he said, •' take this and make your way to London without delay. Here is my card. Go to my house, hand the note to my secretary, and there you will remain till 1 return. I am on my way now to Car- lisle, and shall l)e back in two week-;. Mv you think for. Good-by, till I see you again." .Til e old gentleman left the room a.s he spoke and entered his chaise. The postilion whipped up the horses, and they moved off at a quick pace. Alfred watched the vehi- cle till it was lost to his sight, and then lie bent his eyes to the floor, and remained for a long time in a state of trembling, ambigu- ous thought. " Who am I, who is my fath- er? What can tills stranger know of my parentage ? " These questions kept con- stantly recurring, to the exclusion of every ollior thouirbt. ■28 THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. CHAPTER IX. DAYLIGHT VAJflSHES AGAIJf. Alfred was at length aroused from his reverie by the voice of his landlord, who wished to know if he had finished his break- fast. "Zounds!" uttered the publican, as he began to clear away the dishes, "• you've had an honor. I offered to set the admiral another table, but he said he'd eat with you. He's as kind-hearted a man as there be be- tween here and Land's End. Engaged you in his service, haint he ? " " Service," repeated Alfred, looking up into the landlord's face. " Yes. Didn't Sir William speak about your stopping with him ? " "Ah. yes. I understand. Yes — yes," returned Alfred, who now saw what the in- quisitive landlord was after. "Lucky fellow — zounds! Wish I was in hi? service. Comes up here everj- summer to visit his estates in Cumberland. Gives me a guinea, always." As s(»on as Alfred got clear of the land- lord, he examined the card he had received from the old gentleman. In one corner was a seal bearing a coat of arms, and below it waf written with a pencil: — Sir William Beext— Admikal, 13 Hanover Square, London. The note was addressed to •' Donald Mclvar, Secretary," and bore the same direction. Of course Alfred could only wonder what was to be the end of all this, and of course he resolved to make his waj' as soon as pos- sible to London. He felt perfectly assured that the old baronet had not and would not deceive him. He settled his bill for break- fast, and asked what time the stage-coach would leave Ravenglass for the south. " Half an hour after noon," returned the landlord. " But you can have a post-chai:EU OF THE CHANNEL. One of them slipped the rope from Alfred's neck, but Pettrell saw it not. " Marrok," said the mate, as he knocked the pistol down, " let this thing stop where it is. I have said that Alfred shall not die. You know me well enough to think no more of the deed." " Mark, that boy is minel " •' sh! Say no more. " " But he is mine." «' Not to kill." " Blood and destruction 1 Mark, what do you mean ? Stand back and let this thing go on. Ha! who took off the rope ? Put it on again. Put it on, I say. The first man that disobeys me shall die! " " O fool! " muttered Bronkon, as he laid his hand on Pettrell's shoulder. " Come aft a moment for I would speak a word in your ear." The mate half dragged the captain to the quarter-deck, and there they remained in earnest conversation several minutes. At length Bronkon came forward. "Hark ye, ray men,"' he said. "The captain will abide by your decision. Shall the young man die ? " Nearly all the crew spoke as one man, and a thundering " No! " broke upon the air. Mark Bronkon laid his hand upon Alfred's shoulder, and led him towards the quarter- deck. " Alfred," said he, " you have been a fool; but I owed you one, and I have paid it. We arc square now. For the future you must look out for yourself." " Oh, God will bless you for this! " ejac- ulated the youth. "Will he?" " Yes, yes. And I will bless you as long as I live." Bronkon turned away without further re- mark, and shortly afterwards Alfred sought the cabin. He sank upon his knees as soon as he found himself alone, and offered up to God his soul's prayer. A foot-step on the ladder aroused him. It was Marrok Pettrell. " Alfred," said the captain, as he sank in- to a seat almost exhaustsd by the effects of the rage he had held in his bosom, "this has been done to please Mark Bronkon. Yon saved him once, and he has now saved you; but, as sure as there is a God in Heaven, there shall be no second respite. Cross me but once again, and j-our death is as sure as though you hung by the neck from the yard- arm! " Alfred made no reply. He buried his face in his hands, and for a long time he was lost to everything save the scene just passed. CHAPTER XIII. THE FATAL SHOT. The brig fell in with no more merchant- men until after she had doubled the cape, and it was the intention of Pettrell to pro- ceed directly to England. Alfred's heail leaped with new hope as he heard this, and he resolved that if he could once more get clear of the vessel, he would not be brought back alive. He prayed that the pirates might not attempt to take another prize, but he knew they would if the opportunity were to be afforded. His treatment by the cap- tain had been cold and formal, and as harsh as circumstances would allow. Bronkon scarcely seemed to notice him, and when duty required that the mate should address him, it was always done in a low, growling tone. To our hero the character of Mark Bronkon presented a problem which he could not solve. Time passed on. Summer had gone, and autumn had commenced. The pirate brig had passed the Cape de Verds without any event to stir the men from the dull monot- ony of sea-life, and they began to speak of hunting up a prize. Some proposed steering to the westward and lying in wait for some American Indiaman; but Pettrell decided tc stand on for old England. One bright day, while the Peak of Tene- riffe was in sight on the starboard bow, a sail was reported on the opposite bow. In a moment all was excitement upon the pirate's deck, and Pettrell seized his glass. It want- ed an hour of noon, and the wind was fresh from the westward. 40 THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. In half an hour the strange sail was made .out to be a ship, and in another half-hour she was " hull up," going before the wind, and evidently bound into some of the Cana- ry ports. It was evident that she could be cut off before she could cross the brig's fore- foot, and to this end the helm of the latter was put up a spoke. The pirate's guns were shotted, her arm- chests opened, and as soon as the small arms were all distributed, a gun was fired for the ship to heave to. The ship kept on, and ran up an American flag at her peak. " We'll give 'em our flag," said Pettrell; and in a few moments more a sable flag flut- tered out from the brig's peak. The flag Was as black as night, with no relief or de- vice of any kind. As soon as the flag was shown, another gun was fired, and ere long the ship came into the wind on the starboard tack, and hove to. The pirate was now within a cable's length of the American, and she had made her arrangements to round to under the ship's lee quarter. The men were stationed by the rigging ready for a leap, save such as were needed at the braces, and at length the pirate's yards were braced up, her helm put hard down, and she came boldly around under the high quarter-rail of her intended victim. Alfred had taken a cutlass and pistols, but he had determined not to use them save in defense of his own life. "Ha! What is this ? " cried Pettrell. All eyes Avere turned to the side of the ship just in time to see two heavy guns showing their wide-mouthed muzzles through port-holes that had not been before noticed, the ports having been removed but an in- stant before the guns were run out. The pirates discovered their error too late, for while they were huddled together for a leap, the ship's guns belched forth a load of iron hail that made terrific work among them. Wild and loud were the cries and curses that rang out upon the air, and be- fore the pirates had recovered from their shock their brig had fallen off more than two cables' lenfrths. Pettrell ran his eyes over the deck, and found that eight of his men were dead. " Spi'ing to the larboard braces I " he shouted. " Haul them in smartly. Port the helm. We'll board that fellow, if we do it at the cost of half our blood! Work quick! " The men worked quickly enough, but the brig did not work. She was all aback when she began to drift off, and as her yards came up on the starboard tack with her helm a- port, she just came into the wind and there she stuck. Pettrell stamped and swore, and by the time he got his sails full again, the ship had filled away, and as she came off to her course she brought the brig directly under her larboard beam. " Good heavens! there come her guns again! " exclaimed Waffon. And Waffon spoke truly, for on the next instant a twenty-four pound ball came crash- ing through the brig's mainmast, while a load of grape was rained upon her deck. Mark Bronkon uttered a low groan of pain, and pressing his hand upon his side he sank back upon the trunk of the cabin companion- way. Alfred sprang to his side and raised him up. At that instant the mainmast went over the side with a thundering crash, snapping the shrouds off just above the dead-eyes, while the ship stood freely off out of harm's way. "Are you hurt? "asked Alfred, as he bore the mate up. " Ah — is that you ? Yes, yes. Some- thing struck me here. I feel faint. Help me below." The mate pressed his hand hard upon his left side as he spoke, and the youth could see the blood trickling out from beneath the large fingers. With a heavy step Bronkon sought the companion-way, and leaning nearly the whole of his weight upon Alfred, he gained his berth. " There," he murmured, " leave me now, and go on deck. You may be wanted. Send Waffon down as soon as he can be spared. Don't stop — I am well enough now. But— you — may send Waffon down now." THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. Alfred could see that Bronkon was endur- in_ir severe pain, and having handed the suffering man a can of water, he hastened on deck after WafEon. "Ah! what's in the wind now ?" cried Pettrell, as he met Alfred upon the quarter- deck. •' I have carried Bronkon below, sir. He is very badly wounded, I fear." "The Lord save us I I thought you had been caulking. Poor Bronkon! Well, well, 1 hope it won't prove fatal. Curse the ship! Go and hunt up Waffon, and send him down." WafEon was found at work clearing away the wreck made by the fall of the mainmast, and as soon as he heard of Bronkon's acci- dent, he hastened away to attend to his wants, requesting Alfred to accompany and assist him. The wounded mate was laid upon the cab- in table, and removing his clothing, it was found that some kind of shot had entered the second and third false ribs, having brok- en the third rib. The flesh was consider- ably lacerated, and a large quantity of blood had escaped. Waffoj^ probed the wound, and soon his wire touched the shot. " What is it, Waffon ? " asked Bronkon, " Will it finish me ? " " I can't tell yet. Can you stand it to have the shot taken out ? " " Yes — anything." Waffon produced a pair of long-billed for- ceps, and after much exertion he drew forth the missile, but it caused the patient to utter a sharp cry of pain. It proved to be half of a copper deck-bolt. •' Good gracious! " uttered Bronkon, as he saw the missile; " what a savage thing for a Christian to fire! " " 'Tis an awkward thing," added Waffon, as he placed a clean napkin to the wound to stop the increased flow of blood. " Tell me the truth," urged the suffering man, " will this finish me ? " " Upon my soul, I cannot tell! " returned Waffon. •' But what do you think ? " " The chances are against you." " I thought so." Bronkon's eye rested upon Alfred as he spoke, and a sudden spark lit up its dark depths. He seemed to start with some sud- den emotion, and still he gazed into the 5-outh's face. The spark that burned in his eye gradually spread its light over his whole face, and a breaking smile played for an in- stant about his mouth. It was a calm, quiet smile; very different from that which was to break so bitterly about those curling lips. " You handle me as though I was a sick baby," he said, at length, his eyes still fixed on the young man. " I handle you carefully, for I know you must be in pain," returned Alfred. " It has been many, many years since I have felt a tender hand before. One so rough as I doesn't need it." " You'll need all the care you can get now," said Waffon, as he pinned together the last bandage, and helped Bronkon into his berth. " You shall not suffer for the want of it while I am able to care for you," added Al- fred. " I shall live a few days ? " he murmured. " Oh, yes! " assented Waffon. " Then I am satisfied. Yet 'tis hard to die so; to be hurried off to another world with such a soul as mine! My God! why was I cast upon such a fate ? " There was something in the tone of the suffering man that touched him to the soul. There was a depth of feeling that betrayed a heart that had been crushed. Long after Waffon had gone on deck, did Alfred stand by the mate's side and hold his weakening hand. " Did he not say I should live three days?" " He said a few days." " Yes, that will do; but I shall never see Old England again. Alfred, you may be wanted on deck." " But you may want something." " No, not at present. Go on deck now. I shall live a few days; but before I die, I shall have something for you." " For me ? " 42 THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. " shl Breathe not a word to another earl Yes, for you. Who is that ? " Alfred turned his head and saw the cap- tain. " Ah, Mark, I'm sorry to see you laid out in this fashion! " said Pettrell, as he came down. " It's fate, Marrok, fate! I may as well be laid out here, as anywhere. The world won't suffer at my loss." Pettrell turned towards Alfred and mo- tioned for him to leave the cabin. Our hero obeyed the silent order, and as he reached the deck he stopped a moment by the trunk, and he thought he heard Pettrell pronounce his name in an anxious tone. He stopped to listen. He could hear the hum of voices, and could hear that the subject of conversation was exciting to those engaged in it, but he caught no clue to its purport. CHAPTEK XIV. THE DYIXG pirate's KEVELATION. The mainmast was secured alongside, and as soon as it was made safe, attention was turned to the burying of the dead. Twelve of the brig's crew had been killed, and three more, including Bronkon, had been wound- ed. The services of interment were very brief, and only a few moments elapsed from the time of preparation till the ocean's bos- om closed over the corpse. There were no prayers, no funeral rites, only the bodies were sewed up in white hammocks and con- signed to the grave of waters. As soon as this had been done the men went to work again upon the floating main- mast. The rigging was got off and taken inboard; the top-gallant and topmast were got over, and then the lower mast was taken in, which was done by means of a pair of shears formed of spare spars. The lower mast was got in its place and very strongly fished and wedged, and before night on the following day, the brig Avas once more in sailing order, though much care was neces- sary that too much strain did not come upon the mainmast. Pettrell was cross and crabbed, and he swore more than ever. For half an hour at a time he would pace the deck, speaking to no one, and hardly answering such questions as were put to him. The recent defeat had not only worried him, but he seemed moved by some other cause. The name of the wounded mate was often upon his lips, and at such times he would stop suddenly in his nervous walk and clasp his hands together. It was the third day after the conflict with the American. Bronkon was worse, and Waffon had given him but a short time long- er to live. Evening had set in and passed, and the first watch had been mustered. It was Pettrell's watch, but at an earnest re- quest of the mate, Alfred was allowed to remain below. Shortly after eight o'clock, Dunham came down and turned in, and ere long he slept soundly, for it was the first chance he had had since the battle. " Alfred," said Bronkon, as he worked himself hea^-'ly over upon his side, " I am dying. I feel the icy hand upon my vitals." " I hope you may die happy!" returned the youth. "• Ah, that is a vain wish! " "■ Perhaps not. Heaven is not shut to him who sincerely repents." '• God knows I can repent! " uttered the dying pirate, with earnestness; " but Heav- en cannot blot out the memory of the past. If there is a hell, Alfred, it must be im- aged in the memory of a dying sinner. But my weakness is making me childish. The grim ghost of old death almost frightens me." " Bronkon," said the youth reaching forth and taking one of the man's hands in his own, " you are not lost to every good feel- ing. You have still a soul, and if I am not in error, your early life has been poisoned by disappointment." " S'death! who told you that ? " uttered Bronkon, raising his head quickly from his pillow. " No one but yourself. I have not failed to see that you have often crushed back good feelings that were rising in your bosom for utterance. I have seen the dark frown upon THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. 43 your brow grow darker when I knew it cost you an effort to make it so." Bronkon's head settled back upon his pil- low. " You may be right," he said. " But enough of that. I have called for you to tell the story of my life, and when it is told, you will not wonder that I have looked upon you with strangely conflicting feelings. Arc we safe from other ears ? " " Yes," returned Alfred. " Then bend your head nearer. There. You will not breathe a word of what I may tell you to a soul on board of this brig ? " " No," said the youth, in a trembling tone. Bronkon closed his eyes, and for a mo- ment he writhed beneath the effects of the pain that worked along his nerves and mus- cles. " Alfred," he said at length, in a low, trembling tone. " I have been at times most wretched; but I have suffered enough — suffered when no man knew it. I was not always wicked. My j^ounger days were all joyous and happy, and plenty was mine. At an early age I saw a girl whom I loved. She was as beautiful as heaven itself, and I loved her as man may never love but once. 1 thought she returned my love, for she bore me company and seemed to enjoy my society. 1 was lost — utterly lost — in the heaven of my own love, and 1 dreamed not that a cloud could shut out my happy vision. But that cloud came. Another— a wealthier suitor — one of higher rank — came, and my idol turned from me. I begged, I implored — on my bended knees I besought the beloved girl to have compassion on me; but I found too late that she did not love as I had thought. She married my rival. Oh, what a sea of fire rolled over my heart then I " Bronkon clasped his hands upon his bos- om and groaned. It was pain that moved him, but it was bitter memory that made him weak enough to groan. " You may never know such a keen tor- ture as I then suffered," resumed the pirate. *' It made me reckless and careless of life. But it was an unlucky hour for my soul when I fell in with Marrok rettrelll A strange bond of sympathy found its way to our mu- tual knowledge, and we went forward on the path of revenge together. The man who had stolen away — no, no, I will not say that. It was not his fault that he loved her, for he knew nothing of me. But the man who had won my love for his bride, had incurred the sworn enmity of Pettrell, and he only sought for revenge. We had revenge, and it was dreadful 1 O God, forgive me! That was the most wicked act of all my life." The speaker stopped and raised his hand to his brow. " Alfred," he whispered, " you were the child of that woman I loved so wildly T sh ! She now sleeps, and I shall see her in Heaven. Heaven! oh, if I should never reach it! " " Great God! and was my mother" " sh! I know what you would ask. She died soon after she gave you birth. Hers was a death that no mortal hand could have stayed. She sleeps beneath a marble slab in St. Margaret's yard at Westminster. There are marks of my tears upon that stone." " Mark Bronkon, tell me of my father," uttered Alfred. " I will give you more than you ask — more than you would dare to hope for — but I dare not have you know the whole story while you are with Pettrell. Alfred, I'm growing weak. There's drink in that cup." The youth handed the cup to the dying man, and he placed it to his lips. " Now reach your hand beneath my mat- tress," said Bronkon, as the cup was set back upon the table, " and you will feel a package. Give it to me," The youth did as he was directed, and drew forth a package of papers. They felt like papers, but they were folded carefully in a piece of oiled silk, and tied with a piece of string. Bronkon took it. " See if any one is near us," he said. Alfred walked carefully to the foot of the ladder; but he found that no one was over- hearing, and he returned to the pirate's side. " In this package," said Bronkon, " there THE STORM CHILDREN: OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. is all concerning your father that you could wish to ask. MaiTok Pettrell thinks these papers were burned long ago, but I burned a blank package in their stead, and these I have kept ; for, strange as it may appear, I have long repented the deed I helped to con- summate. When I last stood upon the spot where the mortal remains of her I loved were laid, I lost all my revenge; my heart softened in its bitterness, and I thought of doing justice to her son. When I give you this package, I shall have done all that lies in my power. I cannot restore to you all that you have been robbed of. Your father long since has passed away from earth, and he left behind him a son upon whose head rests the stigma of disgrace; but here is that which will clear your name from dishonor. If I give it to you, will you promise me that you will not open it while you are on board this brig? " " If that be your request." •* It is my request; and you cannot have them otherwise. I will trust your honor." " I pledge myself to obey you. But oh, tell me something of my father! " " I can only tell you this: I saw his cold form given to the same grave that ere long will receive mine. I saw him buried, and I saw the blue waters close over him. There, ask me no more. Pass me the drink again; I am faint." Bronkon took the can, but he had not the strength to hold it, and Alfred supported it to his lips. '' I do not taste it. It slips over my tongue without its usual flavor. Put it back. Raise my pillow. Alfred." The youth raised the dying man's head, and he saw those dark eyes were fast losing their lustre. " Put those papers in your bosom," feebly whispered the pirate. " Let not Pettrell see them, as you value your life. Ah, what was that ? " " I hear nothing," returned Alfred, bend- ing nearer to the dying man. " But I did. I hear the howl of the tem- pest. There! was not that a sea that broke over us? O God, what a dreadful cry was that! Some one is drowning. Alfred, hear the roar of the surge, and hear that wild cry again! " Alfred could hear nothing save the dull rippling of the waves against the vessel's run, and the rattling of the cordage upon deck. '• Remember,"' whispered Bronkon, " open not those papers till you are clear of Mar- rok Pettrell. Hark! Who spoke to me then?" " Xo one spoke," said Alfred. '' Yes — yes — I heard her voice! " The pirate raised himself upon his elbow, and gazed fixedly into the face ©f the youth beside him, but his arm weakened, and he sank back. " Do you feel much pain ? " said Alfred. There was no answer. " Can I do anything for you ? " There was a slight motion of the head from side to side, but no answer. Alfred reached forth and took the hand of the fallen man, but it was cold. He sprang to his feet and leaned over, but he heard no breath. The rays of the hanging-lamp fell upon the pirate's face, but they revealed features that had no expression. For a few moments he stood there and gazed into those dark features, and then he started from the strange thoughts that were crowding upon him, and he laid his hand upon the storm- beaten brow of the pirate, and whispered a simple prayer. Then Alfred drew the blan- kets smoothly over the motionless form, and and having felt in his bosom to see that the package was safe, he hurried on deck to tell the captain that Mark Bronkon was dead. CHAPTER Xy. THE ST0R31-AVEXGER. Alfred stood by and saw the corpse of the pirate mate consigned to the ocean, and as he turned away from the scene, his soul was the seat of strange emotions. He was soon aroused from his reverie by the weight of a hand upon his shoulder, and on turning, he met the gaze of Pettrell. THE STORM CHILDltEN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. 45 " What sort of a story did Mark Bronkon tell, before he died ? " asked the pirate cap- tain, in a low tone. " Nothinc:," quickly returned Alfred; for he hesitated not an instant at the thought of deceivin-^ the base wretch who was seeking his ruin. " Sonicthingl He told you something," said Pettrell, while he sought to read the vcM-y thought-marks upon the youth's face. '• So he did. He told me of his suffering and approaching death." " Don't attempt to deceive me. He told you mox'e than that. Just tell me what has given j'our face that strange look of anxious concern since last night ? What has made you cast such searching, meaning glances at me ? By heaven, there's something in the wind! Now out with it! " " I will tell you what I have thought, Mar- rok Pettrell. I have thought of the fearful price you have paid for the cargo you now have on board. Seventeen human souls! " "Ah!" " Yes. And I have thought, too, thai those souls are but the tirst instalment upon a still more fearful i-etribution." "Stuff!" " No, no, Pettrell, you cannot so easily hide the truth from your soul. Let me tell you one other thing that has held a place in my thoughts." " Silence! " "Let me speak but this: I have thought that you dared not look far into the future. You may dwell as you please upon the past, and revel recklessly in the wild passions of your present career, but you cannot, with- out trembling, look forward to that which is to come. Do I not speak the truth ? " "No. You lie!" gasped the pirate cap- tain. "Then my thoughts, since the death of Mark Bronkon, have only reached to a lie," calmly, but emphatically, returned Alfred. "Now you lie again! Mark Bronkon blabbed something to you; but little good will it do you." , Marrok Pettrell was in a rage when he turned away. How much he might have suspected Alfred could not judge, but the young man felt that his secret was safe, and he had no fear that the evil man could wrest it from him. It was evident that the ardor of the crew had been dampened by the late catastrophe, and in the loss of the mate they felt that they had lost their best man. Yet they were ripe for evil as ever, and they stood ready to retrieve their fortunes by any means that might present itself. On the fifth day after the death of Bron- kon, a sail was reported to the southward, nearly in the pirate's wake; but Pettrell had no thought of turning from his course. At night the sail was lost to sight, and on the following morning it was not to be seen. Several times during the three succeeding days, the same sail, or one precisely similar, was seen in the same direction. On the morning of the tenth day, when the light of the rising sun beamed over the waters, the strange ship was made out astern, and her heavy courses could be seen. Waffon was seen aloft with the glass, and at the end of five minutes he came back again, his face pale with excitement. "It's a sloop-of-war! '' he said, as he reached the quarter-deck. Marrok Pettrell started forward and caught the glass, and then sprang up the main-rig- "It's a sloop-of-war!" he uttered, when he returned to the deck. " Then she must have been lying in Tene- riffe when that American ship went in," said Dunham. " Yes, and she is now after us," added Pettrell. The men gathered aft with anxious faces, for they had heard the, report, and they seemed to be aware of the danger of their situation. " If she has seen us," said Waffou, "there is no such thing as running away from her." " By the great heavens, we must run away!" uttered Pettrell. "The coast of Old England will be in sight in a few hours, at least; and if nothing else can save us, we 4Q THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. must take our money and make the best landing we can. The mainmast must stand her full sails. Get up the larboard stun'- sails, sir, and have them set." "Waffon urged that the mast would not bear it, but he was overruled, and the sails were set. The wind was fresh from the southward and westward, and as the main- mast felt the force of the new power, it bent and creaked beneath the load. " She'll never bear it," uttered Waffon. '' She must bear it," was Pettrell's laconic reply, as he levelled his glass upon the ship. *' By my soul, we can hold our own with her now. If we can but stand on clear of her guns till night we are safe." " Land hoi " came at this moment from the foretopmast cross-trees. •■ Where away ? " cried the captain, start- ing forward. '■• Three points on the lee bow," replied the man aloft. •'The Scilly Islands," said Pettrell. *' Foretop, there! Can you make out a beacon ? " •• Think I can." •• That's St. Agnes. By heavens, "Waffon, ■we shall pass the islands by noon, and before night we shall be well up on the Cornwall coast. We'll give that war-dog the slip vet." The crew were somewhat re-assured by the manner of the captain, and they cheer- fully turned their vv^hole energies to the working of the brig. It was soon evident that the sloop-of-war was not gaining — or at least not enough to be perceptible. She siill maintained about the same distance. The heads of her courses were in sight, and from the tops a heavy swell would ever and iiuongive a view of her bulwarks. Early in the afternoon the Scilly Islands had lieeit left upon the starboard quarter, and then the brig's head was put towards the coast of Cornwall. At length the inter- vening islands shut the pursuing ship from sight, and the pirates began to count confi- dently upon their safety. Pettrell decided, after some consultation with AVaffon and I)anham, to run for Barnstaple Bay, and make the mouth of the river Taw, if pos- sible . At three o'clock the log was thrown, and the brig was going ten knots strong. " At this rate," said Pettrell, " we shall reach the bay by midnight. It is only about ninety-five miles. It will be nearly dark by the time the ship can see us agam. Cheer up, cheer up, for we are safe yet." " But this wind nin't agoin' to hold on so," said Waffon. '• We'll have a change ■when the sun goes down." " Then let it come," returned the captain, " We can stand it." " Perhaps we can," murmured Waffon, half to himself, as he cast his eyes off towards the westward, where a low, dark cloud-bank rested upon the ocean. He did not speak all that he felt, for he would not give unnecessary alarm to the men; but he knew all the weather signs of those seas, and he saw an ominous one in the cloud- bank that arrested his attention. Just before sundown the ship was made out again astern, but the attention of the crew was soon called from her by the lulling of the breeze. "Look off there, cap'n," said Waffon, pointing to the west. " What does that look like?". "It looks bad," said Pettrell, with a slight shudder. Where the cloud-bank had lain, the hori- zon was changing to that color of bluish blackness which is more terrible in its look than the clear sable, and clear away off, as far as the eye could reach, little caps of white could be seen upon the wave-tops. "We shall have it strong, sir," said Waffon. " I believe you." " A regular September gale." " Yes," returned Pettrell, " But we must get the canvass off from our main- must. By my soul, this is unlucky. Only six hours longer, and we might have been clear," All haste was made to get the sail in, and soon the brig lay under close-reefed topsails and a storm staysail. By dark the gale was THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. 4T up in all its fury, and at length it was found necessary to bring the brig to the wind. In performing this evolution the lee fore-topsail parted and the sail was almost instantly snapped into ribbons. " By heavens I " cried Pettrell, as he stood and saw the fore-topsail snapping in the wind, " if the main" His exclamation was cut short by the brig's being brought dead to the wind. Of course the main-topsail was taken aback. The vessel heaved and pitched, and just as Pettrell had given off orders to ease the main-topsail sheet and clue up the sail,^the heavy mainmast snapped its fishing, carried away its leading stays, and fell with a thun- dering, resistless crash over the stern. For some time all hands were paralyzed with terror. Two men who were at the wheel were killed, and several more bruised. The mainmast was gone, and the fore-top- sail was too far gone for use. The foresail could be of no use, for the brig could not lay to under it, as the heavy sea would keep the wind from it. *' How far are we from the shore ? " said Dunham. " Not over twelve miles," returned Pet- trell. " With a prospect of beinjj nearer very fast," added Waffon. *' "We must put the foresail on," said Dun- ham, " and try to lay along. That's the only thing we can do now." Pettrell agreed to this proposition, and after the brig's head had been got off, the lee clue of the foresail was set; but it would not keep the wind, and in a few moments the ill- fated vessel was knocked off into the trough of the sea. Again did the despairing crew try to bring the brig to the wind, but all to no purpose. *' It's no use I " uttered the captain, as for the last time she refused to come up. " She must go as she will." " Then we are lost! " broke from the lips of a dozen men. '' Ouly a miracle can save us," returned the captain, as he caught the rail for sup- port. " This may be the sum of the paymenti " uttered Alfred. Marrok Pettrell heard the remark, but he made no answer. The sea was now breaking fearfully over the brig. All thoughts of making further efforts to save her had been relinquished, and the men were clinging to the racks and pins in utter despair. Alfred Harrold alone, of that whole crew looked upon the scene with calmness. There may have been a pallor on his face, a slight tremulousness in his neth- er lip, but he was not frightened. He looked forward to the coming crash that must wreck the brig as far more preferable than longer servitude with wickedness; and in his soul he could calmly say that death would not strike terror there. Thus passed a long hour. " Hark I " fell in stirring accents from the lips of one of the men. " The coast! " uttered Waffon. " Lost, losti " groaned Pettrell. Above the roar of the wind, and the lash- ing of the sea over the side of the pirate brig, could be heard the thundering of the distant surge, and some of the men, to whom such a thought had not occurred before for years, sank down upon their knees and uttered the name of their God in prayerl But they prayed too latel The hand of the avenger was upon them, and their hour of reckoning had come. On dashed the brig, and louder grew the thunder of the surge. There was a grating of the brig's keel, a shock; then on again she dashed. Another gratmg, and another shock, another space of short moments, and then came the shock that fell with the death touch. The brig was hurled upon her side, and the mad sea tumbled wildly over her. Alfred felt the last trembling of the timbers beneath his feet, and his right hand was pressed upon his heart. He raised his eyes, and through the darkness he could see a mountain of water just towering above him. On it came. It broke — a wild cry sounded in his eare— his hold was broken, and with a single thought of heaven and his God, he was hurled into the boiling, surge beyond. 48 THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. CHAPTER XVI. FORE-SHADOAVINGS. Alfred ,Harrold came to himself, and he found that the sun was shining down on him. It was sometime ere he could com- mand strength enough to raise himself upon his elbow, but he at length accomplished the undertaking. He found himself high up on a sandy beach, and half-buried in a great mass of sea-weed. His joints Avere stiff, but he was not long satisfying himself that no bones were broken, and that he was not se- riously bruised. His right shoulder and hip were very lame, and the right side of his head he found to be somewhat sore. He had evidently struck amongst the sea-weed, and then was washed up on the beach. It must have been nearly half an hour from the time our hero came to himself be- fore he got upon his feet. The sea was still rolling in, but the gale had passed. It Avas a loAv beach where the brig had struck, but she had been completely knocked to pieces, and her cargo Avas scattered all around. At some distance from the spot Avhere Al- fred stood Avere three men— poor fishermen, by their garb— who were hauling up a dead body from the wreck. "Ah! you've come to, eh ? " said one of the men, approaching our hero. " We thought there was life in ye. What a narrer 'scape you've had." *' It has been a narrow one," returned Alfred. " But tell me, Avho else is alive of the crew ? " " Don't know. There be three men as went off an hour ago. Guess all the rest be done for." Alfred looked around among the bodies that Avere upon the sand. He found the stiff corpse of Waffon and Dunham, and four- teen more; but noAvhere could he find Pet- trell. He asked of the fishermen a descrip- tion of the men Avho had gone. " One on 'em Avas a real bruiser," said the man to whom the question had been put. " Had a great scar on his cheek, one on his nose, and I think one on his chin." " Pettrelll " uttered Alfred. " Yes, that be it. I hern t'other one call 'im so." From further description, Alfred felt satis- fied that one of the men named Paul Gal- ium had also escaped; but the third he could not make out. The youth felt glad that Gal- ium had escaped, for he had been his friend; and he was the one, too, who had taken the rope from Alfred's neck when Pettrell had thought to put his deadly threat into execu- tion. " So you be a smuggler, eh ? " said one of the fishermen, with a peculiar wink. '^Yes, that is, this vessel was one," re- turned Alfred. " Well, your capt'n needn't 'ave been so afeared, for there ben't nobody here as would harm 'im." At this moment Alfred thought of the package he had received from Bronkon. He placed his hand in his bosom, but it was gone! For a moment he staggered beneath the blow; but coming to himself, he caught one of the fishermen by the arm. " Who has robbed me ? " he cried " Who has taken a package from my bosom ? " " None of us hain't touched it," said the man. " Them other fellers as Avent off felt around ye," said another; " and one on 'em picked up soraethin' as looked like a paper." " It was Pettrell," groaned our hero. " Yes," said the fisherman. "O God!" ejaculated Alfred, as the full sense of his loss came upon him; "he might have let me had that! " "Money, eh?" uttered one of the men, with a sort of sympathizing look. Alfred made no reply, but he turned to the spot from whence he had arisen and searched carefully in every direction; but he could 'find nothing of the lost package. It was gone, and the youth forgot for the time to thank God that his life had been saved. " Come," said one of the fishermen, "you must be hurt an' hungry. Our home ben't fur from here. Come." The youth did feel faint, and he refused not the man's offer. He gave one more THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. 49 search after the lost package, but without finding it, and then he followed the man up from the beach. The fisherman's hut was only a few rods back from the head of the beach, and when our hero reached it he inquired in what part of Cornwall he was. He learned that he was about fifteen miles south of Stratton, and also that there were no neighbors with- in eight miles of the hut where he was, save a few more fishermen who had small cabins along the head of the shore. A comfortable bed was provided for Al- fred, and towards night he awoke from a re- freshing sleep. Some decent cordial was procured for him, and one of the fishermen cooked him a palatable supper. Again he sought his bed, and it must have been near- ly midnight when he was aroused by the sound of voices. He listened, and from such of the conversation as he could over- hear, he learned that the three fishermen had found two boxes of the money which had been taken from the Indiaman. Early on the following morning our hero arose from his bed greatly refreshed, and feeling quite strong. He partook of the plain fare that was set before him, and hav- ing finished his meal, he proposed to set forth. "You ben't got no money, have ye?" asked one of the fishermen. '• No," returned Alfred. The three fishermen whispered apart for a few moments, and then their spokesman turned to Alfred. " Look ye," said he, with a curious ex- pression upon his brown features. " I s'pose we may get somethin' out o' the stuff as was washed ashore, an' as part of it 'longs to you, why, yer see, we mout gin yer somethin'— say four gold guineas, oh ? '" Alfred could almost have smiled at the fellow's manner, since he knew full well the secret of this generosity; but he betrayed no sign of his knowledge. At first he thought of refusing the money; but he knew that he might need it, and he accepted it. " Now," said the man who had given him the money, "let me give you a piece of ad- vice. There's been sharks artcr yer, an' we set 'em on the wrong track. There's a sloop-o'-war come into Padstow yesterday, an' they're arter pirates. Some on 'em 'ave been up here, an' we set 'em off towards Camelford. Now you jes' tak(; (he fish-path right straight ahead to Stratton, an' from there you can go jes' as yer like." " I am no pirate. I call God to witness that I am not,'' uttered Alfred. " Well, p'r'aps ye ain't. But then if they think ye be, why, it's all the same, yer see; so yer'd better kind o' steer clear, ye know." Alfred wished to say no more, so he thanked the fishermen for their kindness, and set off. He did not stop to look for the package he had lost, for he not only felt con- fident that Pettrell had got it, but he feared to make any stop. He was sure, from what the fishermen had told him, that the pirates had been traced to their wrecked vessel, and he trembled lest he should be arrested as one of them. " Great God! " he mentally ejaculated, as this last thought occurred to him, " what a fate that would be I— to be arrested and dragged before the public as a pirate! " The thought was terrible, and it presented a reality, too, which Alfred could not easily drive from sight. He almost felt that the black doom hung over him! He struggled, however^ to overcome the fea'-, and he par- tially succeeded. He knew that he was in- nocent, and on that he rested his hopes. The narrow road was easily made out, and l)ofore noon our hero reached Stratton. It was his aim to make tlie best of his way to the old light-house upon Little Devon Head. From Stratton to the north it was twelve miles to Hartlaud, and to this place the youtli determined t«. make his way, only stojpping in Stratton long enough to get a morsel to eat. The road was a mere cross-path along near the seashore; but it was easy, and be- foi-e (wo o'clock in the afternoon (lie travel- er reached Hartland, the most western town of Devonshire. Here he had the good for- tune to find a stage bound to Barnstaple, a distance of twenty-eight miles; nnd in thi> 60 THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. stage, or, rather, on this stage, he secured a passage. Alfred rode, outeide with the driver, the mail-guard being the only other outside pas- senger. The driver was an " old stager," and by dint of considerable perseverance he got Alfred into a conversati(>n. " Been to sea some, hain't ye ? " he asked. Alfred replied in the affirmative. *' Ever come across any o' them wagabond pirates? " resumed the driver. The youth started, and for a moment his head swam; but his companion's attention was at that time directed to the horses, and he soon overcame his trepidation. The mail-guard was seated further up, so he did not notice the emotion. " I have seen them," answered our hero. " Blast 'em, I should like to see one on 'em. There's a cutter — a sloop-of-war's cut- ter, I b'lieve — come up to the pin't this mornin', and they said suthin' 'bout a pi- rate's brig bein' cast away on the coast somewhere. You heard anything about it?" " Yes, I did hear something about it, but I took it to be only a rumor. By the way, that i3 a handsome horse — that starboard one forward. All four of them are very handsome ones, and, I doubt not, good ones." ''Good ones!" echoed the driver, giving his whip an extensive flourish, and drawing the reins tighter. "Good ones! Let me tell you 'at last Friday week I drove this team from Barnstaple to Exeter — an' that's hard on to forty miles" " Thirty-five," interupted the mail-guard. "Thirty-five be cussed!" retorted Jehu, not at all thankful for the matter-of-fact in- terruption. " But as I was sayin'— I drove thi^ team from Barnstaple to Exeter — hard on to forty miles— in just four hours and fo.ty-two minutes; an' I had to stop, too, at DipTord, an' Clumleigh, at Oldburrow, an' at the Silverton crossin' for passengers. That was this team." Alfred expressed a due amount of wonder at (his marvelous feat; and well he could aiT rd to, since he had accomplished his ob- ject in drawing his companion's thoughts away from the pirates. • " Five-an '-thirty miles! " growled the old stager, as he flourished his whip with indig- nant emphasis. " These mail-guards thinks they knows everything." After this our hero listened to any quanti- ty of horse stories, and by flattering the pe- culiar vanity of the driver, he had risen wonderfully in the old fellow's esteem by the time the stage had reached Biddeford. Here two more passengers took outside seats, and from thence to Barnstaple Alfred had little occasion for conversation. It was nightfall when they reached their destina- tion, and Alfred took lodgings at the tavern where the stage stopped. He had been someAvhat acquainted in Barnstaple when he was with Luke Garron, and he had sev- eral times stopped at the very tavern where he now was; but no one recognized him, and as he had no desire to make himself known, he kept quietly in the back-ground, merely answering such questions as weie^ casually asked him, and at an early hour he sought his bed. At an early hour in the morning Alfred descended to the bar-room of the tavern, where he found quite a number of th« town's people assembled, who were engaged in reading a placard that had been posted upon the wall. Our hero walked up to the spot, and found that the object of curiosity was no more or less than a full description of Marrok Pettrell, the pirate captain, and an offer of a large reward for his apprehen- sion. The bulletin also stated that three others of the pirates had probably escaped, one of them a young man— and rewards were offered for them, too. " Shouldn't think there'd be much trouble in making out that captain,"' remarked one of the lookers-on. "Zounds! whataau^ly- looking customer he must be." " I should know him the moment J put my eyes on him," said a second. " Then there's t'olhers," added a third^ " specially the young 'un. 'Gad, I'd like make a haul on some on 'em." Alfred felt his heart sinking within hie pui [rdm THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. It seemed to him as though all eyes inut^t ho, fixed upon him, and he entertained at first the idea of leaving the place as quickly as possible; but he soon convinced himself that such a course would be the most likely to bring suspicion upon him, and with an in- ward struggle to overcome his trepidation, he walked calmly back towards the placard, and re-read it. " ILallo," exclaimed a tammy-worker, who happened to cast his eyes upon our hero; " you be a sea-goin' chap ? " •' Yes," returned Alfred, standing the Alfred came nigh losing himself as this remark was made; but he saw that all eyes were upon him, and with a strong effort he maintained his composure. " I shouldn't be very likely to be here if I were a pirate," said the youth, with a slight smile. " Xo, in course not. But I hope as them fellers '11 be ketched — an' I hope as they'll be hung — an' I hope as I may be there to see. 'em." As the tammy-maker delivered himself of these hopes, he turned away to seek his r:hed, and where he had looked for the returning sunshine of life, all was dark. He thought to see the dawning of day, but in the stead thereof he found it still night. '* Can you not tell me anything of Luke ? " he asked, as he raised his head once more. '* Nothing since he went away from here," returned the light-keeper. " I haven't seen anything of him. nor heard anything." It was a long time before Alfred spoke again, but he was at length aroused by the en -ranee of ihe light-keeper's wife. Din- aer was prepared and the youth sat down to the same table from which he had eaten in childhood; but he could not eat much now. AVhen the meal was finished, the light-keep- er went up into the beacon to trim his lamps, and Alfred walked out upon the bluff. Every spot, every rock, every twig, bore to the mind of the youth the memory of some happy scene. Here he had sat upon Luke's knee, and listened to that good man's counsels, and there he had played with the bright-eyed Ella. Then he was a playful, happy boy — now he had grown to be a man, and happiness had long been a stranger to his bosom. He went out upon the bluff, and looked off upon the broad bosom of the channel. Below him was the little sandy cove, shut in by its guardian rocks, and there lay the very boat he had helped Luke so often to manage. He turned to the nar- row path and descended to the place. He entered the boat and sat down upon one of the thwarts, and then he buried his face in liii-' hands. r.>r nearly half an hour he sat there in one position, his mind busy in re- calling the varied scenes of the past. Sud- denly he felt a heavy hand upon his shoul- der, and on starting to his feet he beheld the scarred and storm-beaten features of Mar- rok Pettrell. " Eh I By the beard of Moses, but this is a lucky hit. Blow me eternally if I thought of seeing you here." Alfred Harrold was thunder-struck. He gazed upon the pirate captain for some mo- ments without the ability to speak. " Lucky, by the powers! " said Pettrell. " But let's be off out of this. We'll work together now, and haul our wind quickly. Cut those gaskets, Alfred, and then give me a lift at the halyards. I'll cut the shore- fasts. Hurry, hurry, for the bloodhounds are after us. By my eternal soul, if we can get out of this lugger, we may laugh at them." " You may go your own way, Marrok Pettrell, but I shall keep your company no longer." "Nonsense! I tell you the officers are almost here! They gave me chase on the road, and I took to the woods; but they found my wake. Come, bear a hand, and let's be out of this." " You can go, but I shall not go with you." " Fool! dolt! Would you be taken by the hounds?" "I am no pirate." "Ha, ha, ha! You may tell them that story, but they won't believe you." " You know, Marrok, that I am not." " No, 1 don't know any such thing." " Good God! you wouldn't sec me taken." "Oh, shut up your nonsense!" hastily exclaimed Pettrell, as he drew a knife across the gasket of the sail. " We've sailed to- gether too long to part company now. If I am taken, you'll be taken with me; and what is more, if I'm hanged, you'll be hanged with me. Now you'd better start up and help me off." The youth for a moment was astounded by the cool villany of the pirate, but he soon rcirained his firmness and decision. 54 THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. " Go j'our own way, Pettrell," he said; " but think not that I shall go with you. I have little choice between your company and that of the oflScers." " Fool! " " Ahl " uttered Alfred at that moment, thinking of the package he had lost, " you robbed me of papers ihat I had." " Papers ? What papers ? " exclaimed the pirate in assumed astonishment. " You took them from my bosom while I lay" " I know nothing of papers. Ha! did Mark Bronkon give you papers ? " cried Pet- trell, seizing the youth by the arm. " Tell me! — tell me I Did he give you any pa- pers ? " Alfred now believed that Pettrell had not taken those papers, for there was surely no deception in his earnest, anxious manner; but before he could reply, the pirate dropped his arm and sprang to the shore-fast. " They are upon us! " he cried. " Out with that boat-hook! Out with it — quick! For mercy-sake, Alfred, help me to escape! '' The shore-fasts were cut, and Alfred at- tempted to leap to the shore, but Pettrell seized hold of him and held him back. " By heavens, you shall not leave me! You must help me now. Hear them ? They are at the house and will soon be here! Seize those halyards! " " Marrok Pettrell," exclaimed the youth, shaking ofE the hold that was laid upon him, " I have said that I will no longer be your companion. I mean that, and by that will I abide." "' Back! Move a step towards the shore, and you shall die! " As the pirate spoke, he seized the boat- hook and attempted to push off; but his ef- forts were in vain, for the boat's keel was bedded in the sand. lie turned to seek the assistance of the youth, and at that moment half-a-dozen men appeared upon the head of the bluff. " O fool! Infernal, dastard fool! — we are lost! "cried Pettrell, as he gave one more desperate push with the boat-hook. He pushed in vain, and in a moment more the officers leaped on board the boat. The stout pirate made a strong resistance, but he was soon overpowered by numbei-s, and his arms pinioned behind him. " Now whom have we here ? " asked the leader of the officers, as his eyes rested upon our hero. " That is one of them," said an officer. " Who are you ? " asked the leader. "I am no pirate, sir — God knows I am not! " uttered Alfred. " Then God must have a curious way of knowing things," said Pettrell, with a de- moniac look. "There was a young one among them," said one of the officers, " and it's likely that this ere is him." " Didn't j-ou belong on board the brig that was wrecked on the Cornwall coast ? " asked the leader. " Yes, I did," groaned Alfred; " but I , was" " Oh, never mind your buts," interrupted the officer. " I expect to hear this chop- faced villain swear that he ain't a pirate next." " He's the one; but he is a little fright- ened," said another of the officers. Alfred offered no resistance, for he knew that it would be useless; neither could he say any more, for he was only met with coarse taunts, and with a painfully swelling heart he was led up from the cove. *' The light-keeper came out, and saw the prisoners led by the house. Alfred could see the wonder that rested upon his counte- nance, but he had no word to say. It was a crushing blow, and he sank beneath it. Silently he walked along through the woody path, and at the road he found horses. Up- on the back of one he was secured, while Pettrell was in like manner secured upon an- other. The officers then mounted, and ihe party set off towards Exeter, which place was reached late in the evening. Here Alfred and Pettrell were lodged in the jail, but in different cells, and at the end of a month they were forwarded to London, to answer to the charge of piracy. When our hero reached the great metrop- THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. 5^ olis, he was sick at heart, and all worn dovvn with grief and misery. All along upon the road he had been gazed at as a felon of the blackest dye, and on more than one occa- sion had been forcibly assaulted by the mob. At length the prison doors were shut upon him at London, and he knew that when he came forth it would be to his final trial. He knew of no means to secure a witness in his behalf, unless, indeed, he might gain some- thing from the influence of Sir William Brent. He remembered, too, his address. He received permission to write a note to the old admiral, and he did so, and sent it off. He waited two weeks, but he heard nothing from his letter. Marrok Pettrell had sworn to claim the youth as a pirate, and there seemed no earthly way for redemption. The most fearful ordeal of his whole eventful life was now before the unfortunate youth. He feared that the Court of the King's Commissioner would condemn him. But one ray of light still shone in upon him: at the bar of God he knew that he would be innocent. CHAPTER XVUI. TILE TBIAL. The day of trial at length came, and Al- fred Harrold was taken to the court where he was to be tried for his life. The ship which had been robbed in the Indian Ocean had arrived in port, and many of her passen- gers were there as witnesses. The great hall was crowded with specta- tors, and the utmost interest prevailed. Al- fred met the eager gaze of the people as he entered the box, but as soon as he could be seated, he bowed his head and covered his face with his hands. By previous arrangement Pettrell and the youth were tried separately. "With the pi- rate captain the case was a short and direct one. Ten men who had been on board the Indiaman knew him on the instant they saw him, and their testimony was direct and con- clusive. He was found guilty of piracy, and ihe judge asked him if he had any reason to give why the sentence should not be pro- nounced upon him. Pettrell arose to his feet, and cast a defiant look around upon those v/ho had collected there to look upon him. " Yes, your honor," he said, with a cool look and tone, " I suppose my case is a fixed one, and the idea of asking a man his rea- sons for not being hanged, when you have determined to hang him at all events, is a novel idea. However, my time has come. You want my life. Take it. I suppose my companion here will follow in the same track. He hasn't been quite so long an out- law as I have, but that is his lookout. I could almost wish that he hadn't been caught, for he is too young to hang. If he should live he might repent; but then your laws don't look at such things. We both must die. No, sir, I have no reason why I should not be hanged. I have played the game and beat it often; now I'm beat. If I have any complaint to make, it is that you should put us on separate indictments. Al- fred and myself have been together, and the same testimony that applies to me will ap- ply to him. He is my son, 'tis true, but" " Liarl " uttered a voice in the crowd. The judge commanded order. " Excuse me, your honor; but that base wretch's words are having weight against one who is yet to be tried. He has lied most foully." All eyes were turned in the direction from whence the voice proceeded, and Sir Will- iam Brent, the admiral of a hundred battles, was seen making his way towards the bench. " Your honorl " he exclaimed, his white locks shaking with the indignation that moved him, " I know that youth, and I knew his father. Let the dastard villain speak no more." Marrok Pettrell trembled for a moment, and then he stamped his foot with rage. He was paralyzed for awhile, but his reckless daring came back to him. " Let me tell the admiral that he is too late to triumph! " hissed the pirate, with a fiendish look. " He and I looked on and saw a man hanged years ago. If this young 56 THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. pirate by my side is not my son, much good it may do when he finds out in reality who was his father. I am now ready for your hangman! " A ray of hope had shot through our hero's soul when he heard the old baronet, but a strange source of new grief was opened to him by the last words of Pettrell. He had heard Bronkon speak of his father being buried at sea, and he remembered Bronkon's manner when the subject was broached. The thought came like a thunderbolt upon him that his father had been hanged I And then came the thought of the papers he had lost. Sir William conversed a moment with the clerk of the court, and then he whispered with the judge ; and soon afterward sentence of death was passed upon the pirate captain, and then the officers were ordered to remove him from the room. Pettrell objected to this; but his objection was of no avail, and with a volley of oaths upon his lips he was led from the place. It was now Alfred's turn to be called up. The appearance of Sir William had given him a glimmer of hope; but yet the evidence of the ship's passengers was somewhat against him, until one was called who had seen the pirate captain knock him down. Four of the passengers were confident they had recognized the youth upon the quarter- deck of the pirate brig, but they all agreed that he did not board the ship. The fifth witness stated that he saw Pettrell knock the prisoner down just as the brig began to round to. After evidence for prosecution was all in, Alfred Harrold wa^s requested to make any statement he chose bearing upon the ques- tion at issue. " Nearly the whole of my life, sir, bears upon the terrible subject," tremblingly ut- tered the youth as lie arose to his feet. *' Go on, the court will listen." The youthful prisoner bowed his head for » moment, and then wiping the tears from his eyes, he cast a quick glance about him. He met the gaze of hundreds, but he saw that every countenance bore that magic beam of sympathy which is not to be mistaken; that beam which puts a brilliant spark in the eye, and a tender softness about the lips, which fastens the gaze with a kind look, and images hope in its expression. Quick as the passage of the lightning bolt went the con- viction to the heart of our hero that the sympathy of the people was with him. This gave him courage, and with consider- able firmness he commenced the story of his eventful life. Alfred's voice trembled with emotion as he commenced; but gradually, he lost the realities of the present in the memories he was calling up. His tone assumed power, and the pathos of his words was deep and touch- ing. With a modest, unwitting force, he painted the scenes of his early boyhood; he told how he had been saved from the wreck by the old light-keeper, and how he had lived with that good man, how he had learned, how he had loved, how his heart had put forth its tender shoots of hope, and how his life was opening in the summer of peace and joy. Then he told of tlie coming of the dark man who had just been taken from the court-room under the sentence of death. For a moment the poor youth's feelings overpowered him, and he bowed his head on the railing before him. When he spoke again, his voice had settled to a low, pain- ful cadence, and his frame trembled beneath the bitter memories he called up. With liv- ing, speaking colors he painted the night of storm and darkness that shut so fearfully about him when he was dragged away from his kind protector, and as he went on with his recital every eye that beamed upon him was moistened with the warm dew of gen- erous sympathy. He told of his dark sor- rows, and his soul's battle against the evil gen- ius that had settled down so menacingly by his side. He told of his escape from the brig in Cumberland, of his meeting with Sir Will- iam Brent, and of his subsequent re-capLure. And so he went on, giving a faithful pic- ture of his career up to the time of the wreck upon the coast of Cornwall. His tears flowed afresh as he told of tfte bitter disap- THE STOKM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. 57 poiniment he had experienced vvhen he had reached once more the home of his boy- hood, and how, at that moment, his life's hopes were again cruslied. Then he told li<)w the pirate captain had again met him, and how once more his fate seemed linked with that of the dreaded man who had been lii< deadly enemy so long. There was a , nioijient's pause, and then Alfred raised his V. clasped hands towards heaven, and while his ! countenance beamed with a holy radiance, he exclaimed: — " Earth can have few joys left for me now; but, oh, I would not have my name ■^ left upon her history linked with a crime so 'black. God knows my heart; to him I can look as a child may look up to a father. He will have mercy on the unfortunate, and soothe the troubles of those who rest upon his arm. To my God I am not afraid to commit myself; to my fellows, and to you, sir, I look for pity, at least; pity for one who has been most bitterly wronged, and whose heart is all crushed and broken. Some minutes elapsed after the youth had ^unk into his seat, before a whisper broke . the stillness that reigned in that room. When it was broken, it was by a low, simul- taneous heaving of a hundred bosoms that sent forth the pent-up emotions of unmis- takable good-will and sympathy. Sir William Brent arose at the call of the \ clerk, and gave his testimony. [ " Sir William/' said the judge, after the old admiral had related the circumstances of his meeting with the youth in Cumberland, •'you know something, I think, of the pris- ' ner's early life ? " •' Nothing that I may tell here, my lord," returned the old man. '' It can have no bearing upon the prisoner's case." In a short time the case was given to the jury, .and after a deliberation of some min- utes they returned with a verdict of " Not guilty." The feelings of the excited multitude were not to be restrained, and they burst forth in a prolonged shout of applause, in the midst \ of which Alfred sank back completely over- , powered. He heard the shout, and he knew that he was safe, and then his consciousness left him. When he was aroused, his hand was clasped by a warm embrace, and a friendly voice was speaking to him. ''Come, come, my brave youth; you are free!" It was Sir William who spoke to him, and as our hero caught the kind look of the old man's eye, he bent forward and leaned his head upon the baronet's bosom. " Come, come; you are freel " " But whither — whither shall I go ? " " With me," returned the baronet, as he led the youth from the box. "Come; my carriage is in the street." Alfred followed the old man out, and as he walked down the aisle he met the warm greetings of those who had remained to see him depart. He thanked them with a silent, tearful look of gratitude, and ere long he reached the admiral's carriage. Once more he turned his grateful look upon the multi- tude who were cheering him, and then he entered the vehicle of his friend. He knew not why the old man should be so interested in him; but of one thing he felt assured— that Sir William was his friend, and that for the present he was safe from persecution. CHAPTER XIX. A STRANGE SURPRISE. It was nearly dark when Alfred reached the residence of Sir William in Hanover Street. He ascended the steps and followed the admiral into the hall, where he waited till one of the servants had called the secre- tary. ''Mr. Mclvar,'' said the old gentleman, " I wish you to take this young gentleman with you to Walbourne's and there see that he has clothing suitable for a guest of mine. He is the one of whom I have often spoken. You know him ? " " Yes," returned the secretary, as he cast a kind look upon the youth. Our hero could not object to this arrange- ment, and with a word of thanks upon his lips, he followed Mclvar back to the car- 66 THE STORM CHILDREN: OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. riage, and they proceeded at once to Wal- bourne's. The fashionable tailor had any quantity of superb clothing on hand which had never been called for by those who had ordered it, and without difficulty Alfred was fitted with a suit. As he surveyed his coun- terfeit in a mirror, he could not but feel a thrill of new pleasure; for, say what we will, outward appearance is not to be over- looked in this world of ours. Dress may not " make the man; " but dress does make the man of fine feelings more agreeable to himself, and more pleasing to others. La- bor has her garb of "stout contents," and labor is honorable in that garb; but the hand that sweats in the dust of toil should not go unwashed to the tea-table. Neatness and comeliness have their laws, and to a certain extent even fashion may be just. "When Alfred returned to the dwelling of Sir William, he was shown into a large drawing-room, where he was told that the admiral would soon join him. For a little time the youth was completely dazzled by the gorgeousness of things about him. The large shaded lamps sent a soft light around upon the rich carpets, and the heavy, carved furniture, and the old pictures that looked forth from their gilded frames seemed like tiny spots of nature in the distance, seen through golden windows. A portrait that hung against the wall opposite to the door, had just attracted the youth's attention, and he was so deeply buried in the contemplation of the beautiful features which were there revealed, that he did not notice the opening of the door, nor the sound of a light footfall that ap- proached him; nor was he aroused till he felt a hand upon his shoulder, and heard a low, sweet voice pronounce his name. He started to his feet, and, as he turned, his eyes rested upon a face of more than ideal beauty and loveliness. The lips upon which he gazed were half parted, and a gen- tle smile was breaking about them. " EUal " he whispered, half fearful that his dream was false. " Ellal " " Your own little storm child," returned the fair girl. Both her hands were extended as she spoke, and her eyes were fixed with a beam- ing look upon the face of the youth. He thought not then of the maiden who stood before him with the first dawn of blushing womanhood upon her cheeks; he only thought of the little child he had wrested from the storm grasp, of the gentle being who had been his companion in the flowery walks of boyhood, and of her who had been the love light of many a dark hour of tem- pest and tribulation. With these thoughts, these feelings, he drew the beautiful Ella to his bosom, and pressed his lips upon her fair cheek. " And you, too, here," he murmured, as* he again gazed into Ella's face. " Has Sir William been kind to us both ? " " Ah, Alfred, I have found a father in Sir William." "Fatherl" uttered the youth, dropping the hands he held, while a sudden shade of something like fear passed over his featiwes. " Yes, and a good, generous father he is," said Ella, with a happy look. " Thank God for the blessing he has con- ferred upon youl " ejaculated the youth, t*o he sank back into his seat. The beautiful girl sat down by his side, all unconscious of the sudden pang that found its way to Alfred's heart. She knew not that in her present sphere her companion felt that she was removed from him forever. But so it was. He had held the sweet companion of his boyhood in his soul's memory for years, and he had learned to look upon that image as the type of one who belonged to him in love and sympathy. But the scene was changed. The child he had taken to his young bosom from the grasp of death, was no longer a traveler in the same path with himself, and he felt that henceforth she could only be his companion in the memory of days that had passed. But the youth hushed the feelings that were rising in his bosom, and once more he turned with a smile to the fair being at his side. "Ella," he asked, "have you seen any- thing of our old protector since you left the beacon house ? " THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. 5» " Once I thought I saw him," returned the girl, while an expression of sadness overshadowed her features. " I stood by the window and saw an old man upon the opposite side of the square. It looked like old Luke, and I ran out to meet him, but when I had gained the street he was gone. I have seen nothing of him since, nor have I heard anything of him.'' At this moment Sir William entered the apartment, and Alfred quickly arose to meet him. " Ah, you look like another man, upon my soul," exclaimed the old man, as he took our hero's hand. " What do you think of the surprise you have met ? " " It was a heavenly surprise, sir," re- turned Alfred. "■ 1 thought so. My pretty Ella must seem a very sister to you." " Yes," said the youth in a low tone, while his eyes wandered to where the fair gill sat. "I knew she must; and it seems, too, that you were the one who saved her." " Yes. I took her from the cold bosom of one who clung to her even in death. I think she would have died had I not discov- ered her as I did." " And God knows you shall ever have my warmest gratitude — and something substan- tial, too. But has Ella told you the story of her early life ? " "No, sir." " Then you are yet in the dark. But I will explain the matter. Let's see — it is thirteen years ago that her mother died. How time flies away. I then had command of a squadron in the Indies. My wife was taken with one of those malignant fevers, and she died in one week from the time of her first sickness. She loft my Ella not quite four years of age, and I at once made up my mind to send the child to England. I wrote letters to ray friends in London, with whom I had planned that Ella should remain till I came home, and gave them into the hands of the captain of the ship in which ray child was to sail. The child's nurse, and two more of ray female servants. were sent to take charge of my little daugh- ter. Of course the letters never reached their destination, and when the old light- keeper sent word out that he had found a child — as I understand he did — there was no one in England who mistrusted that my child had left the Indies. " When I came home, which was nearly two years afterwards, I thought my child had perished. The account of the wreck of the " Chesham " reached me in Calcutta, and that gave out that every soul on board the ship perished. Not a thought entered my head that my child could have been saved, and I gave her up as lost. , Seven years passed away after my return, and dur- ing that time I divided my attention between my friends in London and my estates in Cumberland. You remember our meeting at the little inn near Egreinont? When you told me your story then, you said some- thing about a girl who had been saved. My then present interest in other matters pre- vented me from noticing the circumstance; but ere long after I set out on the road j'our words came back to my mind, and by de- grees the idea of my own child became as- sociated with the little girl of whom yon had spoken. " When I returned to London, I hastened off to Devonshire. I found the residence of the old light-keeper — and there I found my daughter. She had grown to be a large girl,, but I knew her the moment I saw her. She had retained her Christian name — Ella Deane — for that was what we always called her, though she had forgotten the name of her family. The facts were as clear as though my child had never been absent from me for a moment; but it gave me a pang to take her away from that old man. He wept like a child, and I thought his heart would break. I asked him to come and live with me, but he refused. He said he had nothing on earth to live for, and I believe he spoke the truth. It was a heavy blow for him. Ah, Ella— does it affect you 80?'» "Excuse me, ray dear father," said the fair girl, as she wiped the tears from her 60 THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. face. "Alas, poor Luke! I cannot think of him but with sorrow. He was a good man. He was a father to me when I had none else to protect me, and I shall ever love him! Alas, poor Luke! what would I not give to see him ? " "But tell me, Sir William," uttered Al- fred, struggling to keep back his tears, " do you not know anything of that old man now ? " " No. He left the light-house shortly after I took Ella home, and I have heard nothing of him since. I have sent to Devonshire repeatedly, but could gain no clew to his whereabouts." Gradually the conversation took another turn, though it was a long time ere Alfred could draw his thoughts from the unfortu- nate protector of his boyhood. At length, however, he overcame the sadness that load- ed his soul, and then he had to recount the scenes of his own life. He had an interest- ed listener in Ella, and often did he feel the warm blood rushing to his face as he met the earnest expression of her lustrous eyes. It was late when Alfred was shown to his chamber, and when he was once more alone, what a rushing of various emotions filled his bosom. Into that one day were crowded the prison — the court— the trial — the host of applauding people — the unexpected protect- or — and last, the meeting with Ella. It is no wonder that it was long ere he slept, nor is it a wonder that when he did sleep his dreams were various and wild. If he dreamed of Ella, it was as one might dream of airy castles which had substance only in vain wishes. CHAPTER XX. THE HEAST'S secrets, AND ITS TRIALS. On the very next morning after Alfred had found protection beneath the roof of Sir William Brent, the latter received orders to go to Portsmouth to attend a court-mar- tial. The call was an urgent one, and the old admiial h:id io ob(•^ ii. His secretary was to attend him, and our hero was to be left almost alone with Ella. " You can make yourself comfortable till my return," said Sir AVilliam, speaking to the youth, just previous to his departure. "There is my library, and if you at any time wish to take a ride, the coachman will obey your wishes. I shall be absent two weeks, at least, and perhaps three; but when I return I will attend to j^our interests. However, a few weeks of rest will not harm 3^ou. And you, my child," continued the baronet, turning to Ella, " will of course do everything in your power to make Alfred comfortable. You owe him a debt of deep gratitude, and you must not forget that I owe him the life of my child." Sir William set off, and the storm children were once more left to enjoy each other's society. For a week there was a mutual constraint. They conversed and read to- gether, but their conversation was formal, and the reading was resorted to for the pur- pose of relieving the tedium. Both those hearts were swelling with thoughts and feel- ings for which there had been no utterance, except by the soft language of those tones and glances which could not be restrained. Alfred told over and over again the tale of his trials and sufferings upon the sea; and often were the scenes of those days, when both were children under the care of the old light-keeper, reverted to and talked about. During the second week, Alfred opened his heart more to the feelings that lay so closely about it, and he smiled oftener, and spoke more freely. The effect was not lost upon Ella, for her very joyous looks told how happy she was, and how much she loved the society of him who had thus been left to bear her company. The third week had opened, and Sir Wil- liam had not returned. Alfred and Ella were sitting in the baronet's library. It was evening, and they had been conversing upon topics connected with their childhood. They were seated upon the same soft lounge, and they had l>eeu more than usually thoughtful. ••Oh." uttered Ella. •' I shall never tire THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. in lookiiifr back upon those sweet scenes of my early childhood." " AVc wore happy, then," said Alfred. '• Yes, and we are liappy now." •• Happy in the present, Ella; but there is a future." " And there must be happiness there, loo," said the fair girl. ■^ Perhaps so," returned Alfred, gazing half sadly into the face of his companion. Their eyes met. Over the face of Ella there came a strange look of unmistakable love, and gently she put forth her hand and rested it upon Alfred's arm. "Tell me your thoughts," she said. "They are such as may not be spoken," returned the young man, while his nether lip trembled. " Then they were not of me ? " "Of3^ou?" " If you would not speak them, how can they be ? " •' Ah, Ella— they are of you." " Then speak them." " Would indeed I dared." The fair girl started and gazed more ear- nestly into her companion's face. She saw the trembling of the lips, and she saw, too, the glittering tear that stood upon his dark lashes. She moved her hand closer to his own, and soon it was nestled there. " Tell me, Alfred," she whispered, while her heart fluttered till its beatings were almost audible, " the thoughts that move you thus." " Can you not read them ? " " Yes." '* Then why should I tell them ? " " They might be music to my soul." "Ella*!" " Can you not understand me, Alfred? " " Oh, I cannot be mistaken," exclaimed our hero. '' You do know my heart, and you can return me the warmest feelings of your own. You have unloosed my tongue, and I will speak. I love you, Ella, with my whole soul I love you." " And of that you were thinking? " " Yes, and of that I have thought since I came beneath this roof." " And are you not happy in that love ? " " Happy ? " "Ay, Alfred— happy ? You used to be happy when you loved me." " Yes, yes; but 'twas not such love as this. Then I felt you were all my own, ami the affections of my young heart clung about you to protect and shield you. Now you no longer need my protection. We are grown up, and the sentiments we cultivate will be firmly fixed in our fates. I cannot hide it from me that my love would be dan- gerous now." "Dangerous?" repeated Ella, with a stui«tled air. " I do not surely understand you." " You can see it all, Ella; but yet I can speak more plainly." " Speak," the fair girl whispered, " Then since 3^ou bid me, you will know my heart. I have told you that I love you; but, oh, mine is a love that must not be cherished unless it may live in the pres- ence of its object evermore. In short, there is one holy name that can alone give forth its image ; one name alone on all the earth that can syllable its thought." " And that name ? " murmured Ella. " Wife," uttered Alfred ina thrillingtonc. Ella bowed her head, and her hand trem- bled violently. But soon her eyes were fixed again upon her companion, and a fond, affectionate smile was breaking around her finely chiselled lips." " Alfred," she said, with only a slight tremulousness in her tone, " you have told me that which I had fondly hoped might be true." " But can there be hope for me ? " " Why should there not be ? Your heart can feel no more than can mine. Ah! Al- fred, you little know me, if you think I could forget all those tender sympathies and gentle deeds of kindness that were the sun- beams of my girlhood. No, no, my heart is all your own — all — all" " O God bless you, sweet EUal " ejaculat- ed the youth, as he pressed the fair girl to his bosom. 62 THE STORM CHILDREN: OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. Their lips met, and with that simple kiss was locked the chain that mortal hand might never put asunder. Moments passed; bliss-laden moments, ere Alfred spoke again. Then a cloud set- tled over his features, and his deep blue eye looked sad. " Ahl I knew you loved me," he said; '' but there is a third whose will must be law, that shall govern our fates. Your father's wishes may not be in my favor. " O Alfred, you wrong my father, if you think he would oppose us in our love. He is too generous, too kind, too noble-hearted for that." " I know he is kind and generous; but I fear you misunderstand him." "Ah, no! It is you who misunderstand him, Alfred. He would not have left us here together, had he entertained objections to our union. What do I not owe you?" she continued, with increased warmth. " What does he not owe you ? I know Sir William will not oppose us. He will not crush the holiest blossom of my whole opening womanhood." And so the sanguine girl thought. She looked upon her companion with the whole loving confidence of her ardent soul, and she knew not that earth had an obstacle to throw in the way of her hopes. But with Alfred the case was different. His life had been one of disappointment, and even now he could not shake off the heavy load of fear that weighed him down. '' Come, come," said Ella, as she noticed the deepening sorrow on her lover's face; *' be happy as you used to in years gone by. We will be as we were then, and through our whole life we shall remain so. You shall love me and care for me, and I will share your every sorrow, and never, never cease to love you. Come, be happy now, and smile as you used to smile." '' Blessed, blessed girll " cried Alfred, while the warm tears started forth from his eyes. " You will make me hope in spite of myself." " No, no, j-ou shall hope with a hope that haih foundation. Love shall bid you hope; and love is a gentle, yet powerful monitor.*' " Oh, would that I could throw every doubt away. Would that I could see the future as bright as your love's pencil paints it." " Harkl O Alfred, that is my father's step. Some time j'ou shall ask him all. You will, and I will be your second. lie will not refuse us." Alfred opened a book that lay by his side, and while he was yet endeavoring to remove the tear marks from his face, the old admiral entered. Ella sprang to meet him. He kissed her fair brow, and then he turn6ir William," he said, in a tone of strange, unnatural calmness, " do you know the story of my family — of my earliest life ? " " Yes." " Then I would hear it." •* I will tell you all, Alfred, all; and then you will know why I have done as I have. Your father was Sir John Lanford, and he was a rear admiral in our navy." " Can it be so ? " ejaculated the youth, closing his eyes and sinking back. " Now I know it all; but go on, sir." " Your father and myself were brought up together from childhood. We were midshipmen together, and together we passed through the various grades till we were both aer was opened, and it was addressed to Alfred, but also bore a recom- mendation to " All friends of Sir John Landford." The baronet opened it and read: — " Alfred: — Of course you must know that you are no son of Marrok Pettrell; but you are, in fact, the child of Sir John Land- ford, Rear Admiral, who was hanged on board the ' Sussex,' for high treason. But of that crime your father was wholly inno- cent, Pettrell and myself being the prime movers in the affair. Four years before that event Sir John tried a man for mutiny on board his own ship, and had him hanged. That man was Marrok Pettrell's brother, and from that moment Marrok swore to be revenged. He found me a ready tool to work with him, for I was just smarting un- der the wound I had received in the loss of one whom I loved as my own life, and who •married the admiral. I may sometime ex- plain this more fully." Here Alfred had to relate to Sir William and the doctor what Bronkon had told him when he gave him the package. Then the Daronet resumed his reading. " Marrok and myself both shipped on Sir John's vessel, and it was not long before a most extraordinary opportunity was offered for carrying our plan into execution. We were anchored off the harbor of Toulon, whither we had gone to regain two of our Indiamen that had been captured by the French. Pettrell had been appointed boat- swain's mate, and one day while off in one of the boats after a spare spar that had got afloat, he was hailed by a French officer who had come out in a sail-boat. The officer came alongside and gave Pettrell a letter, which he requested might be given to the admiral, at the same time stating that he should be there on the next day, at the same hour, for an answer. The very nature of the circumstances opened Pettrell's mind to a strange suspicion. As soon as he re- turned to the ship he drew me one side and showed me the letter. We broke the seal and found it to be a proposition from the French commander, offering to Sir John tlie sum of one hundred thousand pounds if he would quietly surrender the ship into their hands. " The letter was again folded up, and the seal melted together, and Pettrell went to the cabin and delivered it to the admiral. In the meantime I obtained some of Sir John's chirography, and then sat down and wrote an answer to the Frenchman's letter, partially accepting his prop>osition, but re- quiring more definite terms. To this I af- fixed the admiral's signature, and then sealed and directed it. As we had hoped, on the next day, Sir John handed to Pet- trell a letter in answer to the one he had re- ceived the previous day, and directed him to deliver it to the officer of whom he had received the note. The letter I had written was delivered, and the admiral's own letter was retained by us! You will find it in the package. It is numbered ' two! ' " " Let's see it," faintly uttered Doctor Holland. It was taken from the package, and read as follows: — " H. B. M. Ship " Medusa." " Monsieur : — I received from you a proposition offering me a bribe for the safe and quiet delivery into your hands of my ship. I am an Englishman! That should be answer enough; but if you will come forth on your errand, I will give you a more THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. n Etibstantial answer in the shape of powder and cold iron. '* With the utmost contempt, I am your enemy, John Laxdford, Bart." "The old admiral himself I " cried Sir William, as his eyes filled with tears, " O God I " murmured Alfred, " and that K?ttcr was kept back, and another, a base forgery, sent in its place 1 " " Yes," said Holland, " but read on." Sir William wiped his eyes, and then he read again: — " After this we managed to get six more letters from the Frenchman, all of them di- rected to the admiral, but not one of which he ever saw until they were produced against him as evidence of his guilt. Pet- trell framed rough drafts for the answers, which you will find in the package, in his own uncouth hand. These I copied, ad- dressed to the French commander, always signing Sir John's name. The Frenchman secured his letters in a small black box, not larger than a pipe-bowl, which he fastened to one corner of the buoy, where Pettrell took it when he rowed around in the morn- ing to square the yards, and where ho al.so left the answer we had prepared — tlio Frenchman, you understand, always com- ing at night. "At length matters were all arranged, and the night was set on which the ship was to be surrendered, and yet we were not suspected, nor did the Frenchman suspect that Marrok Pettrell wias not a bona-fide agent of the admiral. We had received notes of hand, or rather drafts on a heavy bank in Toulon, for the hundixd thousand pounds, which were to be cashed as soon as presented, all payable to Sir John Landford. By means of our French agent we obtained a large quantity of a very powerful sedative — a sort of quintessent extract of henbane and opium— which we mixed with the tea of the ship's company, and which we also contrived to get into the drink of the offi- cers. Thus were all hands under conttt>l. " At midnight the enemy came ofif in boats. Pettrell and myself were on deck; but aU tho rest of the wntch were sound asleep. Of course the ship was taken almost without a blow. Our men were nearly all too stupid to make any resistance. As soon as Sir John came out from his cabin, I rushed in and placed all the letters we had received from the French, together with the d'^fts, in a small till in one of his chests. As they were all addressed to the admiral, of course they had an overwhelming weight in evidence, as the contents of our own for- geries were all alluded to in them. Thi.>* consummated our plan. We were all taken prisoners; but the Frenchmen must have been surprised when Sir John indignanily refused their money, and at the same time disclaimed all knowledge of the affair. However, they attributed it to his fear of detection. " At length the affair leaked out, and our whole crew were exchanged and carried home to England, where Sir John was tried. The letters were found in his chest, and Pettrell and myself sw ore to having can-ied them to him from the French. I could at that time see what no one el.se seemed to notice -and that was, that the terrible blow had turned the ill-fated admiral's brain; and beneath the effects of that mental derange- ment he suffered all without much attempt at defence. " As soon as Sir John was hanged, Pet- trell and mj^self hastened off to Gloucester, and by means of a forged order from your father, we obtained pos.session of you— Pet- trell having sworn that you, too, should be brought to the gallows, to make up the sura of his revenge. " What more can I tell you that you do not already know ? You were then one year old, and your mother had already been laid in her grave. Three years after that, while we were engaged in smuggling, our vessel was cast away on Little Devon Head, and you were lost to us for several years. How you were at length found you know. " And now, God forgive me for the deed I ho|>ed to consummate. I hope this will Horve you. You need no advice from roe» and I will give none. I can only swear most solemnly, before that God whose laws 72 THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE, LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. I have so often outraged, that every word I have here written is true I " Mark Beonkon." As Sir William ceased reading, the paper dropped from his hand, and he sank back in hia great chair. The surgeon started up and flew to and fro across the room like a crazy man. Alfred put forth his hand and laid it upon the baronet's arm, and in a low whis- per he uttered: — " Was not my father innocent ? " " TnnocentI " repeated the baronet, start- ing up from his seat, and then sinking back again. " Oh, that fearful thought has never ceased to haunt me. A dark mystery always hung over that fatal scene in the closing life of my best friend. Everything seemed against him, and I was forced to believe him guilty; yet my soul, ray heart, was never reconciled to the judgment. Innocent I Oh, poor Sir John! " Holland stopped suddenly in his walk and seized the letter which Sir John had written to the Frenchman, and which the conspira- tors had kept back. "'I am an Englishman!'" he read. '* Oh, how like the old admiral. ' That should be answer enough!' O Sir John! ' If you will come forth on your errand, I will give you a more substantial answer in the shape of powder and cold iron! ' What a precious document is this! ' With the ut- most contempt, I am your enemy — John Landfokd.' O Sir William, he was inno- cent! " The old baronet could only groan, and clasp his hands in agony. The other papers in the package were looked over, and they were found to be, as Bronkon had said, the rough drafts of the letters which had been written to the Frenchman over the forged signature of the admiral. "Was not that a base conspiracy?" ut- tered Sir William, as he held the papers in his hand. "What a noble soul did England caet away when that man was so wrongfully put to death." At that moment a servant opened the door and announced that there was a man at the door who wished to see Alfred. "Then let him come in here," said the baronet. " Whatever interests Alfred now must also interest me." The old man looked upon the youth as he spoke, and the latter returned a silent mo- tion of consent. CHAPTER XXIV. CONCLUSION. It was an old man who entered the room — a man bent down beneath heavy burdens — " a man of sorrow and a man of grief." He stopped as he stood in the presence of those who were there assembled, and for a moment his frame shook like a frightened child. " Alfred! " he at length murmured, " Al- fred, my boy, I have come to see you once more." The head of that old man was on the next instant pillowed upon the youth's bosom, and Alfred gently murmured the name of " Luke Garronl " " Oh, my more ,than father! " cried our hero, as he clasped the old light-keeper more fondly within his arms, " God has sent you back to me. Sir William, this is now my father." The baronet had sprung to his feet, for he recognized the man from whose hands he had received his daughter. But oh, how was Luke Garron changed! That stout, noble form was bent; that glossy raven hair was all frosted like the driven snow; those features, once so full of the soul's life, were now in weeping for the soul's decay; those darkly flashing eyes were sunken, and their light was dimmed; those hands, once so strong, now trembled like stricken reeds, and he was all bowed and heart-broken. " You shall never leave me more," ut- tered Alfred. " Henceforth our home shall be together. You protected me in child- hood, and I will now watch over you in your old age." " Bless you, bless you, ray boy; but thit may not be. My 'stop here cannot be lon^. THE STORM CHILDREN; OR, THE LIGHT-KEEPER OF THE CHANNEL. rs But where is Ella? Oh, I must see her sweet face once more." Ella was sent for, and as she entered the room the first object that met her gaze was Alfred, and towards him she moved. " No, no, Ella," said the youth, " not to me — not to me. Here." He laid his hand upon Luke's arm as he -poke. "Ella," uttered the old man, " do you not know me ? " The fair girl gazed up into his face, and on the next instant she was upon his bosom. She murmured his name — she blessed him — and she pressed her lips upon his deeply furrowed brow. When Luke Gkirron sank back upon the large sofa that stood near him, his storm children were by his side. " Doctor Holland," said Sir William, '* this is the old light-keeper of whom you have heard me speak. An old friend of mine, Mr. Garron," added the baronet, tiUTi- ing towards Luke. The old man turned his eyes upon the surgeon, and a deadly pallor overspread his features. He attempted to rise, but his limbs failed him, and he sank back upon his seat, "Are you ill?" anxiously asked Ella, putting her arm around Luke's neck. " No, my child, it was only a sudden weakness. Ah, I have such attacks often." A short silence ensued, during which the doctor moved his chair nearer to where Luke sat. At length Sir William asked the old light-keeper where he had been since he had left the Devon beacon. " I have sought you often," he said, " but could never gain any tidings of you." " AlasI " murmured Luke, "I have had no home since that time. I have been a wanderer without destination." "But you should have come and seen me," said the affectionate Ella. " So I have seen you, sweet child. When you knew it not, I have stood and watched you." " Ah, I saw you once on the opposite side of the square," "Yes; I remember. I thought you de- tected me then, and I left my post." " But you will stay with us now. Oh, my good father will give you a home." " Yes," said Sir William; "your wander- ings shall now have an end. Beneath my roof you shall find a home." " No, no," groaned Luke; " it cannot be. I wished to see these children once again before I died; and now I have seen them. I must go now." He caught the burning glance of Robeil Holland, and tremblingly arose to his feet. "O God! " he murmured, as be cla8pe4^»'*. perhaps none excel this one from the jieti of Dr. Robinson. ^^ a^mnaoB aoa marf■ '?^<: and romanric phases of life at a period when deadly oonffia was mMD. HMied between the Spaniards of Cuba and the desperate pirates who infested the seas in its vicinity sometl^oen^a^ Ho. 6. Orlando Chester, or The Young Hnnter of Virginia. A Story of Colonial Times. BY SYL\'AXUS COBB, Jr. nSln't^t.' ""^ "^ "'^ happiest efforts of the author, who has wrought out ^ series of domestic scenes in private Mkj^ ! No. 7. The Secret-Service Ship, or The Fall of San Juan d'UIloa. A Romance of the Mexican War. BY CAPT. CHARLES E. AVERILL. The author enjoyed extraordinar>- facilities for gaining the actual knowledge necessan- to the pn •tory ; and hence us truthfulness and excellence. No. 8. Adyentnres in the Pacific, or In Chase of a Wife. BY COL. ISAAC H. FOLGER. This sea story will attract niuch attention from residents of the Cape, and nianv old whaling c SB cbaracters and inadents with lively interest, and ail fond of adventure will read it with relish. No. 0. lyan the Serf, or The Russian and Circassian. A Tale of Russia, Turkey, and Circassia. BY AUSTIN C. BURDICK. Hm b a well-told and highly gr^hic storj- of life, domestic and militarj-, in Russia, Turkey, and Qnaana. S9* 10. The Scout, or The Sharpshooters of the Revolutiou. A Story of our Revolutionary Struggle. BY MAJOR BEN. PERLS- POORE. ^ Iwt^^Sr^''^'"''""*^ st»'«ggJe is one ot much interest, and narrates with vivid, lifelike ffffect. some ot tlie aceoc; No. 11. Daniel Boone, or The Pioneers of Kentucky. An Hi.storicai. Romance of Early ^Vestern Life. BY DR. J. H. ROB- INSON". The terrible experiences of the early Western settlers, with their perils and privations, their Struggles and their triumphs, afford a vivid field for the writer, who has lent himself to the task witli a rich result. * No. 12. The King of the Sea. A Tale of the Fearless and Tree. BY NED BUITTLINE. This is one of the most popular romances of the sea written bv this well-known author, and the characters which appear are replete with interest and individuality. ' No. 13. The Queen of the Sea, or Our Lady of the Ocean. A Tale of Love and Cnn alry. BY XED BUNTLINE. This is a story of the buccaneers or the seventeenth ceiituiv, and is fraught with the sanguinary incidents of ihose times. No. 14. The Heart's Secret, or The Fortunes of a Soldier. A Talk of Love axd the Lotv Latitudes. BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY. This IS a very inie'esim.j story of life amone the noble in the island of Cuba. Its plot is well conceived and happily ear- ned out, and furnishes a skillful senes of events of inten.-e interest. No. 15. The Storm Children, or The Light-Keener of the Channel. A Story of Land am) .Sea Advexti re. BY SY'LA'ANI\'^ COBB, JR. This story is one of great interest The principal incidents are located on the coast of England, although the develoi> I roents cany the reader into the Eastern worid. It is a fine portiaiture of human character. ' FOR SALE BY ALL NEWSDEALERS, Price Filteen Cents, or sent , pwst-pairl on receipt of price. { GEOKGE W. STUDLEY; Publisher, 23 Hawley Stkket, Boston, Mass. 14 DAY USE RjTOKN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DEPT. This book is due on the last date stamped below, ot '*''>.»*.=±-aT;^c;t=dt.e recall. Renewed books are subject ^ ____440U4JU965jil- ■ — ma^mu^^^Ji^ BEC'OLO AUG frnrn^ LD 2lA-60m-3,'65 (F2336sl0)476B General Library . University of California Berkeley Mtnitfaclured tit I 6AYLORD BROS. I« Syr«cu»«, N. Y. Stockton, Calif. U.C, BERKELEY iilliill C03S57D1DD r iv.5i;/195