him as his half-brother, without saying a word of his illegitimacy. John's mother was supposed to have been married again to a person of larger means than her first husband; and hence the difference of the social position of the two brothers. It was generous of him-for it cost some sacrifice of pride-but Philip was more than grateful for it. No liberality which John had shown him in the past touched him half as nearly. Unhappily, he was in no position to repay him; for he was going to Brazil, a mere adventurer, as friendless as and even more penniless than his kinsman; but as a comforter and, when occasion required, as a sick-nurse, his companionship was invaluable. The two men would sit together for hours talking over Holt's conduct, chiefly in relation to John; speculating as to whether he had played him false in this and that affair, but especially concerning the mine. And then, for relief, they would turn to Kitty, of whom Philip was never tired of hearing; and from her John would diverge to his wife and the other children, and find at least a patient and apparently an interested listener.

It was curious how the adversity which thus knit John to Philip isolated him from the rest of his fellow-creatures. His genial nature had been nipped and frozen by its cold breath, and, where the blossoms of wit and fancy had been wont to hang in such profusion, there was naught now but bare boughs. If to any one among the saloon-passengers on board the Flamborough Head the social reputation of John Dalton was known by repute, he must needs have thought it ill earned. Dalton was, to be sure, an invalid; but even when he was able to take his seat at a table, or hobble up to smoke a cigar upon the deck, he did not mingle in the conversation, but sat in silence and sad thought. He was polite, of course, and answered when addressed; but that was all. There were some young ladies on board who interested him, by some faint resemblance perhaps to Kitty or Jenny; but he was constantly asking himself how it was with Edith and the little household at Sanbeck. The recollection of the unpaid premium to the Palm Branch also occurred to him, and gave him great uneasiness; for, though he strove to believe that Mr. Campden would surely discharge that debt for him, his thoughts were full of bitterness and disbelief in the loyalty of all friends. From the little gayeties and amusements of life on shipboard he shrank with pain, except on one occasion. That pretty custom had just come in vogue of committing a miniature vessel, decked with ribbons, and named after some young-lady passenger, to mid-ocean laden with letters for England, in hopes that some homeward-bound ship might pick it up, and act as postman. In this case, the fairy craft happened to be named the Edith; and since it could carry but a very limited mail-bag, there was much competition for the privilege of sending letters by it. The coincidence of the name with that of his wife made John strangely solicitous to be one of the favored few; and he succeeded in his desire. Perhaps his only happy hour on board the Flamborough Head was during the launching of this fragile toy; his eyes were the last to watch it as it rose and fell upon the calm bosom of the ocean in their wake. After that day there was no more calm. Stormy weather set in, and with it the pangs of his rheumatism increased. He was confined to his berth, and day and night lay listening to the roar of wind and wave. Philip came to him, and sat by his side, conversing as long as it was possible to converse; but after a time the gale so increased that no human voice could well be heard.

One day-it was but noon, but the cabin-window was so hidden by sheets of water that it was almost

dark-John asked, with difficulty, "Is there danger, Philip?"

His brother nodded gravely, holding on meanwhile to the side of the berth. The ship so pitched and lurched that the floor was as often the ceiling as the floor; the howling of the wind and the roar of the sea were deafening and incessant; but above them both could be heard hurried movements upon the deck. They are getting out the boats. Is it not so, Philip?"

"I will go and see. Do not fear, brother; I will not desert you."

"I fear nothing-only for my poor wife and the children; thank God, I am well within the days of grace, however." John Dalton's thoughts amid that whirl and woe were centred on the premium of his life-assurance. Presently the door was burst open it would open in no other way now-and Philip rushed in.

"Quick, quick! You must get up, and I will carry you on deck."

"Not I," answered Dalton, resolutely. "What should I do, a poor cripple, in this tumult? Could I jump into a boat? Could I live in one, if I did? Let me drown in peace."

No.

Philip's only answer was to seize him in his powerful arms and drag him from his berth.

Thence, by immense exertion, he got him across the saloon; but up the cabin-stairs, now steep, now sloping, and now staggering toward them like a thing of life, it was impossible to carry him: he was not only a helpless cripple, but every movement gave him torture.

"Leave me, Philip, leave me !" exclaimed he, vehemently. "God will reward you, though he will not suffer you to save me. Tell Edith my last breath was-"

There was a rush of water down the cabin-stairs, that swept the men apart, and dashed the speaker senseless against the cabin-wall.

When he came to himself, he was lying on the floor, wet through; the turmoil of the elements had nowise abated, but the trampling and hurrying overhead had ceased. Sometimes all was in darknesswhen the maimed and shattered vessel fell into the trough of the sea-and sometimes there was light enough to behold the devastation and wreck of the saloon as the ship battled to the surface, and was hurried on the crest of a wave. From her aimless and uncertain progress, it was evident that she no longer obeyed the helm, but was rolling like a log, now under and now above the water.

If John's personal discomfort had been less, he might even now have congratulated himself that he had lived his life thus long, and had not ended it upon Bleabarrow Crags, as he had once thought to do: Edith could now have no sort of difficulty in realizing the five thousand pounds from the Palm Branch, and there would be no guilt of self-murder upon his soul. But his knees gave him such intolerable pain that he could think of little else. He contrived, however, to drag himself on to one of the couches let into the sides of the saloon, and presently swooned away there.

When Dalton next awoke to life he was in his own berth; the roar of the tempest had greatly diminished, but there was a slush and whirl of water in his ears, and he perceived-or was he dreaming? -that some articles in his cabin were advancing to and retreating from him in the strangest manner: they were in fact afloat. From the complete absence of any sound save that of the elements, it was plain to Dalton that the ship was deserted. Yet how, if this were so, could he have been conveyed back to

his berth? His pains had abated, but he was faint and sick with hunger, and conscious of some strange disturbance in his brain. Was it a dream, or was it reality, that some one was splashing about the cabin? Dr. Curzon, perhaps, upon his pony; yes, and with a prescription, too, which he persisted in thrusting into his mouth-a mixture of biscuit and brandy, which so revived him that he presently sat up, and said, "Hollo, Philip!"

"Hollo, old fellow," answered his half-brother, cheerily; "the old ship floats, you see, still."

'Yes; only the water is inside of her, instead of outside of her; is it not?" said Dalton. It was a point that puzzled him, and which he really wished to have cleared up, but the other mistook it for a joke.

"Come, that is spoken like yourself, John. You are getting round now, though you have had a bad touch of it."

Then Dalton began dimly to comprehend that he had been ill for days.

"Where is everybody, Philip?" inquired he, suddenly.

"The ship is water-logged; as for the people, I don't know for certain," answered Philip, gravely, "but I fear that you and I are all that now remain of them. That day when you saw me last-to know me-was one I shall never forget. The scene on deck was heart-rending. The women-You remember those two girls who launched the Edith?"

John nodded; he remembered their doing that. "Well, they clung about the captain like poor demented creatures at the feet of their idol. Their shrieks, their cries for help, where no help could come, while the wind and waves stormed at them like devils, were terrible to listen to. The launching of the boats was with great difficulty effected; but some were staved in, and some were swamped with all on board, before our eyes. It was a sea, the captain said, such as it was scarcely possible for a boat to live in. I told him how you were left below-stairs; but he said, taking into account your maimed condition, you had as good a chance of life -if chance there was-in remaining there, as in endeavoring to leave the ship."

would have selected to help him to navigate a vessel; and almost the last whom any one would have chosen as coadjutors in such an adventure as lay before them. Dalton was a product of the highest civilization, if not of culture. His natural place was in drawing-rooms and club-houses; he had never done anything of a menial, or, indeed, a useful, kind since he had been a fag at Eton, and was "blown up" (and worse), like another King Alfred, for burning his master's toast. The idea of his being shipwrecked on a desolate island was preposterous, and would have placed the stern Fate that brought him there among the first class of humorists.

Philip Astor had, it is true, been more knocked about in the world; but the shifts and contrivances to which he had been pushed had been those of town-life; he knew scarcely more of what may be called the rudiments of life-how to build, to cook, to clothe himself, even to guess the time by the position of the sun-than his more highly-placed halfbrother. At present, however, he had much the advantage over him in health and vigor; and he now put forth his strength to the uttermost to carry his companion through the slush of the saloon, and to assist him up the now sidelong staircase to the deck.

Dalton was better, however; he got along with much less difficulty than he had expected, and the fresh air revived him wonderfully. The prospect itself was not exhilarating; the storm had ceased, but left the sea of a dull, leaden color, as though its liver (as must certainly have been the case if it had one) had been much "upset." The ship it was a compliment to call a ship at all. The masts were gone, though the stumps were left, and one of the steam-funnels; some broken rigging was trailing in the water, which was level with the bulwarks on one side, while the other was lifted up, and to a landsman's eye threatened an overturn every moment. To stand upon the sloping deck without holding on to some fixed object was impossible. Still the vessel moved, though very slowly, and fortunately in the direction favorable to the voyagers' hopes.

which formed one side of a little bay. If the ship should drive ashore inside this promontory, matters might go well; but, if outside, there was the open sea again, where the question of her remaining afloat could be only one of a few hours at furthest. The helm, even if she had a rudder-which was more than doubtful-was gone, and the two men watched the course of the vessel in utter helplessness.

Suddenly the wind shifted a little, and turned her head more to the southeast; that is, to seaward. It was now obvious that she was about to miss the promontory. The two men looked at one another in silent despair.

Then suddenly Dalton cried :

"Can you find a hatchet, Philip?"

Fortunately, in a corner of the deck, there was one the last left of many that had been used to cut away the ship's gear on that terrible day.

"If we can get rid of that rigging, perhaps she will wear a bit."

A few powerful strokes from Philip's arm freed the ship from this incumbrance, and at once she rose a little in the water, and altered her course as was desired.

It was not just then a time for compliments, but afterward Philip told John that from that moment he was reconciled to the idea of his (John's) having succeeded to the Dalton property; for that a man

with such intelligence deserved to be the head of the family. Thus the dismasted ship, though rolling and swaying, yet floated into what, by comparison with where she had been, might be called port; that is to say, under the sheltered side of the promontory, close to which, and in almost shallow water, she grounded upon the sand, as safe (while the weather continued fine) as though she were in the London docks.

Of this much in respect of their common adventures both John and Philip often spoke; but with regard to their subsequent life upon the spot they had thus had the good fortune to reach, these twin Crusoes were very reticent. The fact was that, from their excessive ignorance, they got on worse than almost any persons in such a situation could have been expected to do. The island, a small one, lying to the south of the West India group, and little else than barren rock, could certainly not have sustained them had they been dependent upon the development or even the realization of its resources. But, fortunately for them, the sea had not robbed the Flamborough Head of its contents, although it had damaged much of them excessively. They lost no time in removing all the stores they could lay their hands on to land, and took up their abode in a cave upon the promontory, on which they erected a flag, to call the attention of any passing ship. They had to thank the island for nothing save, indeed, for a limpid spring, without which it might have gone hard with them, neither of them possessing that kind of genius that hits upon scientific plans of extracting fresh water from plants, precious stones, or even from salt-water.

Before they got to the end of their preserved meats and vegetables, their "extracts" of this and that, and their ship-biscuits, a Spanish vessel, bound for Rio, passed by, and, seeing their signal, sent a boat and brought them off. They came away in very good case, and almost fit to be Fellows of All Souls, bene nati (though one of them, it is true, the law held to be illegitimate), bene vestiti (for they had had all their fellow-passengers' clothes to choose from, besides their own), et mediocriter docti; that is to say, they were almost as ignorant of how to provide for themselves as when they landed. Yet they had learned something: to respect one another very heartily, and also-this was especially the case with John-to look upon life otherwise than through the tinted spectacles of society. He had had cause to recognize very literally “a man and a brother" in his unacknowledged kinsman, to whom he owed his life twice and thrice over. If Philip had not remained with him on board ship, he would have perished in his narrow cabin, or certainly have never reached land; and if he had reached land, he would have perished there, but for Philip's companionship, cheerfulness, and sympathy. Even as it was, he had been consumed with apprehensions about those dear ones he had left at Sanbeck, and only too truly, as we know, had his heart misgiven him respecting Edith, overwhelmed as she must needs be by this time with the news of the loss of the Flamborough Head. His dead wife, his orphaned children, were spectacles that were rarely absent from his eyes, and he needed all Philip's sanguine arguments and pleasant prophecies to win him from deep despondency. For the rest, his out-of-door life and simple fare had physically bettered him; he had got rid of his lameness, and felt himself strong enough for any hardships that might yet lie before him in his quest. Upon visiting San José, and seeing with his own eyes how matters were with the gold-mine, his mind was as fixed as ever: much as he yearned for home, he was resolved not to return thither with the mis

sion unaccomplished for which he had left it; and the opportunity was now-at last-afforded him of effecting his object. The two castaways had a sufficient stock remaining of the good things saved from the Flamborough Head to make them very welcome on board the Cadiz without the payment of passagemoney; so Dalton's slender purse was still intact upon their arrival at Rio.

Here, however, misfortune was awaiting him: a letter that had long been lying for him at the postoffice informed him of his wife's death. His forebodings, as we know, had pointed that way with an inexorable finger, but they had not prepared him for it, and for a time the news utterly overwhelmed him. To say that Edith had been his better half, his alter ego, and the good angel of his life, so far as he had permitted her to be so, was feebly, indeed, to express what she had been to him; and with his anguish there was mingled the most bitter remorse; for had he not killed her with the work of his own hands? Out of the very depths of his wretchedness, however, came a motive for action; all the reparation he could now make to his lost love and lover was to further the interests of her children. Whether they were still left to him, or in what plight, he could not tell, nor had he the means of informing them that they had yet a father, since, unhappily, the mail-boat had left Rio the very day before his arrival.

There was time to reach San José and return before the next steamer left the port for England; so the two brothers at once started for their destination. They had to husband their resources, and traveled slowly, and with what, six months ago, Dalton would have felt to be great discomfort, much increased by their ignorance of Spanish, or the native tongue. And even when they reached San José they found they had by no means accomplished their journey. The Lara mine, about which people seemed to know little or nothing, was still far away, and, since it lay out of the main track, they were compelled to push thither on foot.

The scenery was splendid: they were always in sight of the stupendous Cordilleras, although they scarcely seemed to approach them nearer. The gold district lay between them and these mountains. In the good old times, the precious metal had been exclusively the product of alluvial washings; but these had long become exhausted, and the gold now yielded was dug deep out of the solid rock, which cropped up on the surface in dome-like masses, often covered with foliage. If Dalton's mind had not been bent so earnestly on a single end, he could not but have been enchanted with these scenes, in which men contend so energetically with Nature, and yet could not mar her beauties. The two friends had passed by three such mines, and on the third morning of their travels came upon a fourth. They asked its name of one they met upon the road who knew a little English,_and he had told them it was called the Quito. It was situated in the most beautiful spot they had yet reached.

"Forest on forest "hung above it "like cloud on cloud," so that, though itself in an elevated region, it looked sunk in a shady vale. A little river ran through it, which turned the stamping-mills and the pumping-machinery, which was in full action. The din was incessant, yet by no means deafening; and the bustle and movement, contrasted with the quietness and sublimity of its natural surroundings, were very striking. The chief-engineer-who was one Mr. Blake, as usual an Englishman-gave a welcome to his two wandering fellow-countrymen that was more than cordial; there being no inn in the place, he invited them to dine, and after that repast showed

them over the works, which were of considerable extent. Not content with watching the tram-carriages, bearing each a ton of the mineral, coming steeply up from the shafts, they descended in them to the depth of nearly a thousand feet, to the very home of the gold. Afterward they had explained to them how the rough rock gives forth its treasure; saw it freed from slate upon the spalling-floors, and afterward, stamped fine, issuing through the copper grates, to pass over the bullock-skins, and-lower down the inclined tables-over woolen cloths, the washing of which yields the golden fruitage. Then they once more repaired to Mr. Blake's one-storied dwelling, tiled and slated, with its broad veranda hung with flowers and creepers, to be again refreshed before they started on their way. With pardonable pride he spoke of the Quito's prosperity, which he said was but of recent date. He had been its engineer but for a few months, and had taken it when it was in a very depressed condition. There had been even a doubt as to whether it would repay working at all, all its ancient wealth having been supposed to be exhausted.

His wife, also English, listened to the story of his achievement as though she had heard no word of it before.

"Your friend has suffered a recent loss, I fear?" observed the engineer apart to Philip, for Dalton was in deep mourning; and the spectacle of the domestic happiness of his host and hostess, and of their prosperity, touched his bruised heart with a sense of

contrast.

"Yes," returned Philip; "losses of all kinds. His wife is dead, and his fortune has been spent in the same sort of adventure that has turned out so differently in your case."

Indeed! I am sorry for it. The fact is, only about one in six of these Brazil mines, formerly so profitable, now pays its expenses. There is also a deal of roguery about some of them, very difficult for those who are not upon the spot-I mean for English shareholders-to get to the bottom of. I am afraid some of my own calling-who are my fellow-countrymen, like yourselves—do not always keep their hands clean. The agents, the experts, and the engineers, have it all their own way, you see, out here."

"Just so. Well, we are now bound for my friend's mine, just such a one as you have described, I fearthe Lara, and, if you can tell us anything about it, he will be greatly indebted to you."

"The Lara!" echoed the engineer. "Are you really serious? Did you come from England to

look after the Lara?"

engineer was a thoroughly honorable fellow, and consequently loyal to his employers. It would have been difficult to convince him-and on the whole Dalton thought it better not to try-that the mine with the conduct of which he had been intrustedand here, again, Holt had shown his peculiar idiosyncrasy in favor of honesty in other people—was in fact a swindle of the most Machiavellian kind. Instead of existing on paper only, like other fraudulent institutions of a similar class, it did not exist on paper-that is, under its real name—at all, but had a very actual and bona-fide existence in fact. The last local agent of the Lara, Brooks, had been in the pay of Holt, and had played into the hands of his creature Tobbit, the expert, in representing the mine to the English shareholders as worked out and valueless. The whole affair had been transacted with consummate skill, but not, as we have seen, without exciting the suspicions of Philip Astor, and even of a certain financial circle in the city with which Sir Richard Beevor and Mr. Binks were connected. Up to this time, however, the real state of things was undiscovered, and, for the present, Dalton thought it better it should remain so. Of the proofs of it he presently acquired full possession, but, in dealing with so astute a scoundrel as Holt, it was expedient to be very cautious; while so long as the latter was kept in ignorance of Philip and himself having been saved from the Flamborough Head, they would have a great advantage over him.

Dalton therefore confined the statement of his wrongs to the fact that endeavors had been made to persuade him to part with certain shares in the Lara, as being of no value. His account of the affair was not indeed very intelligible; and Philip had to lend assistance by hinting that his brother's grievance had -as grievances are apt to do-not left him altogether a logical being upon this particular topic; but the pair so far succeeded that, when they quitted Mr. Blake's hospitable roof, that gentleman had no suspicion that he had been entertaining an angel unawares in the person of one of his proprietors; while on the other hand it was pretty evident to Dalton that the only individual who held any shares in the Lara besides himself was in truth Richard Holt, who held half of them, and had certainly left no stone unturned to secure the other moiety; while in the mean time, as though already possessed of it, he had been receiving the proceeds of the whole, which made up a very substantial income.

"But for your Stick to the Lara,' Philip," said John, with grateful frankness, "I believe I should have let the scoundrel buy my shares of me for a song."

66

Nay, brother, it was not much to do-the writing those four words; but I hope you will stick to me, in recollection of them," answered Philip. The words were said in jest, but the tone had a serious. sadness in it, which stung the other to the quick.

"Do you doubt it, Philip?" said he. "Do you. conceive it possible that when I have grown rich again-'assumed my former social position,' as Mrs.. Campden called it (I wonder how that woman is behaving to my poor children?-however, George will keep her straight)-that I shall inherit with it my former follies? that I shall not know my true friends, those who have been tried in the fire-and the water-from the false ones, and, above all, shall not cleave to the brother to whom I shall owe all?"

"We shall be quits," said Astor, pressing his hand, and more than quits, when you introduce me to Kitty as 'Uncle Philip.'

"Then I hope we shall be quits within the next six weeks," was John's reply.

They returned to Rio, however, only just in time