"I am in a fever of curiosity about what is to come," she said,
when we all parted for the night; "and, even if I wanted to leave
you, I could not possibly go away now, without hearing the
stories to the end."

So far, so good. All my anxieties from this time were for
George's return. Again to-day I searched the newspapers, and
again there were no tidings of the ship.

Miss Jessie occupied the second day by a drive to our county town
to make some little purchases. Owen, and Morgan, and I were all
hard at work, during her absence, on the stories that still
remained to be completed. Owen desponded about ever getting done;
Morgan grumbled at what he called the absurd difficulty of
writing nonsense. I worked on smoothly and contentedly,
stimulated by the success of the first night.

We assembled as before in our guest's sitting-room. As the clock
struck eight she drew out the second card. It was Number Two. The
lot had fallen on me to read next.

"Although my story is told in the first person," I said,
addressing Jessie, "you must not suppose that the events related
in this particular case happened to me. They happened to a friend
of mine, who naturally described them to me from his own personal
point of view. In producing my narrative from the recollection of
what he told me some years since, I have supposed myself to be
listening to him again, and have therefore written in his
character, and, w henever my memory would help me, as nearly as
possible in his language also. By this means I hope I have