No one can tell what a storm had passed through the strong man's breast while he lay alone on the floor of his cabin,--the deep, deep sorrow; the remorse for sin; the bitterness of soul, when he reflected that his present misery was chargeable only to himself.

A few nights had given him the aspect of a much older man.
For a few seconds he stood glancing round the quarter-deck of the Talisman with a look of mingled curiosity and sadness.

But when his eye fell on the form of Henry he turned deadly pale, and trembled like an aspen leaf.
"Well, Gascoyne, my--my--_friend_," said the youth, with some hesitation, as he advanced.
The shout that Gascoyne uttered on hearing the young man's voice was almost superhuman.

It was something like a mingled cheer and cry of agony.

In another moment he sprang forward, and, seizing Henry in his arms, pressed him to his breast with a grasp that rendered the youth utterly powerless.
Almost instantly he released him from his embrace, and, seizing his hand, said, in a wild, gay, almost fierce manner: "Come, Henry, lad; I have somewhat to say to you.