Captain Stuart Whyte of His Majesty's gallant sloop of war, the _Hawk_,
was standing on his own quarterdeck, looking curiously at the scene
about him, and, taking it in, as well as he could, by the light of a
great bonfire blazing on the beach some distance away. He was a young
officer and his immense relief predominated over his curiosity. The
_Hawk_ was a fine sloop, and he loved her, but there had been a terrible
time that night when he thought she was lost and her crew and himself
with her.

He had seen more than one storm in these sudden seas, but this was
perhaps the worst. All bearings were gone, and then the signs showed
breakers. He was a brave man and he had brave officers, but every one of
them had despaired, until suddenly a light, a pillar of fire, rose in
the darkness and the storm, almost from the heart of the ocean, as if it
had been evoked by his own signal guns. Then, by this marvelous beacon,
they had scraped between the rocks and into safety. Clearly it was a
miracle, and young Captain Whyte felt a deep and devout gratitude. He
had then sent one of his best officers ashore to see the man who had
saved them, and, meanwhile, he had stood by, watching through his
glasses.

He saw the man of the island get into the boat with Lanham and approach
the sloop. The storm had now sunk much, and it was not difficult to come
aboard, but Captain Whyte, still intensely curious, but with a proper
sense of his own dignity, withdrew to his cabin where he might receive
the lord of the isle in state.

He rose politely, and then stared at the tall youth who came in with
Lieutenant Lanham, the water running from his clothes. Yet the stranger
had a dignity fully equal to his own, and there was also something very