What manner of mankind is he
Who dares impersonate the dead?
Alas! The doom of treachery
Must some day fall upon his head.

"It was twelve years ago," the Captain was saying, "and I was in charge of the \'Water Sprite,\' running from Liverpool to Calcutta. She was a rakish little craft, with a slippery keel,—quick to mind her helm and would carry sail to the last, but we\'d had a long, rough voyage and all hands was pretty nigh used up, but when we was about three days from the eastern port we was struck, almost unawares, by a terrible gale. I say unawares, but I must own we was in pretty good shape for squalls all the time, but on this[Pg 160] partic\'lar night I staid below more\'n I should if it hadn\'t been that one of the young chaps that shipped \'tween decks in the cargo at Liverpool, was a dyin\' out of pure out and out sea sickness.

"Well, as I was sayin; the first officer was on the bridge and I was sittin\' below with young Sinclair, when"—

"Excuse me, Captain,—Sinclair, did you say?" exclaimed Sir Frederic, suddenly aroused to interest by the familiar name.

"Aye, Aye, Sir, Maurice Sinclair, a lad of about fifteen years. He said he\'d got into some scrape at home and had just started out on his own hook, and"—

"Maurice Sinclair,—Twelve years ago,—Did he die?" Sir Frederic almost screamed in the old Captain\'s ear as a howling blast swept by, nearly driving their feet from under them.

The old m............