CHAPTER EIGHT.
MY PLAN.
"Shut the door, Mr Herrick," said the captain, as he threw himself into a chair, and I obeyed and remained standing there.
"Come close up to the table, my lad, and I'll hear what you have to say, for I should be sorry to discourage a young officer who was in earnest about his profession, as I have noted that you seem to be." "Thank you, sir," I faltered, as I walked forward to where the swinging lamp cast its full light on my face, making my eyes ache, after being so many hours in the darkness, while I noticed that the captain sat in the shade.
"Now, Mr Herrick," he said, "I talked of one fable, let me say a word about another.

I hope this is not going to be a case of the mountain in labour, and out crept a mouse." This put me quite out of heart, my hands grew damp, and I felt a tickling sensation of dew forming upon my temples and at the sides of my nose.

My throat felt dry, and my lips parted, but no words came.
"There, there," he said kindly, "don't be afraid.

Speak out." "Yes, sir," I said hastily.

"It was only this.