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“The mate raised the dripping, little brown hand to his lips, and whispered some undistinguishable words in her ear. I remember seeing her turn a look of ineffable love and happiness upon his grim, set face, and then she was gone. She dove as a duck dives, and I saw her shapely head, after a moment’s suspense, reappear a cable’s length away toward the shore.

“I ventured to raise my eyes to the mate’s face; it was cold and impassive. I turned my face toward the crew; they were conversing in whispers with each other, with their faces toward us, yet apparently utterly oblivious of the scene that had just taken place in the stern. There was a moment of silence, and then the mate’s voice came out quite impassively, but distinctly:–

“‘Fernandez!’

“‘Aye, aye, sir!’

“‘Come aft and–bring your oar with you.’

“He did so, stumbling over the men, who, engaged in their whispered yarns, didn’t seem to notice him.

“‘See if you can find soundings here.’

“Fernandez leaned over the stern and dropped his oar to its shaft in the phosphorescent water. But he touched no bottom; the current brought the oar at right angles presently to the surface.

“‘Send it down, man,’ said the mate, imperatively; ‘down, down. Reach over there. What are you afraid of? So; steady there; I’ll hold you.’

“Fernandez leaned over the stern and sent the oar and half of his bared brown arm into the water. In an instant the mate caught him with one tremendous potential grip at his elbows, and forced him and his oar head downward in the waters. The act was so sudden, yet so carefully premeditated, that no outcry escaped the doomed man. Even the launch scarcely dipped her stern to the act. In that awful moment I heard a light laugh from one of the men in response to a wanton yarn from his comrade,–James, bring the vichy to Mr. Lightbody! You’ll find that a dash of cognac will improve it wonderfully.

“Well–to go on–a few bubbles arose to the surface. Fernandez seemed unreasonably passive, until I saw that when the mate had gripped his elbows with his hands he had also firmly locked the traitor’s knees within his own. In a few moments–it seemed to me, then, a century–the mate’s grasp relaxed; the body of Fernandez, a mere limp, leaden mass, slipped noiselessly and heavily into the sea. There was no splash. The ocean took it calmly and quietly to its depths. The mate turned to the men, without deigning to cast a glance on me.

“‘Oars!’ The men raised their oars apeak.

“‘Let fall!’ There was a splash in the water, encircling the boat in concentric lines of molten silver.

“‘Give way!’

“Well, of course, that’s all. WE got away in time. I knew I bored you awfully! Eh? Oh, you want to know what became of the woman–really, I don’t know! And myself–oh, I got away at Havana! Eh? Certainly; James, you’ll find some smelling salts in my bureau. Gentlemen, I fear we have kept the ladies too long.”

But they had already risen, and were slowly filing out of the room. Only one lingered–the youngest Miss Jones.

“That was a capital story,” she said, pausing beside our host, with a special significance in her usual audacity. “Do you know you absolutely sent cold chills down my spine a moment ago. Really, now, you ought to write for the magazines!”

Our host looked up at the pretty, audacious face. Then he said, sotto voce,–

“I do!”