The letter ended thus, without signature; and the captain ceased to read aloud.  But there was an addition to the letter written in pencil, in the hand of the late Captain Brand, which neither he nor Minnie had yet found courage to read to the poor widow.  It ran thus:—­

“Our doom is sealed.  My schooner is on the Bell Rock.  It is blowing a gale from N.E., and she is going to pieces fast.  We are all standing under the lee of a ledge of rock—­six of us.  In half an hour the tide will be roaring over the spot.  God in Christ help us!  It is an awful end.  If this letter and box is ever found, I ask the finder to send it, with my blessing, to Mrs. Brand, my beloved wife, in Arbroath.”

The writing was tremulous, and the paper bore the marks of having been soiled with seaweed.  It was unsigned.  The writer had evidently been obliged to close it hastily.

After reading this in silence the captain refolded the letter.

“No wonder, Minnie, that Swankie did not dare to offer such things for sale.  He would certainly have been found out.  Wasn’t it lucky that we heard him tell Spink the spot under his floor where he had hidden them?”

At that moment there came a low knock to the door.  Minnie opened it, and admitted Davy Spink, who stood in the middle of the room twitching his cap nervously, and glancing uneasily from one to another of the party.

“Hallo, Spink!” cried the captain, pushing his spectacles up on his forehead, and gazing at the fisherman in surprise, “you don’t seem to be quite easy in your mind.  Hope your fortunes have not sprung a leak!”

“Weel, Captain Ogilvy, they just have; gone to the bottom, I might a’most say.  I’ve come to tell ye—­that—­the fact is, that the press-gang have catched us at last, and ta’en awa’ my mate, Jock Swankie, better kenn’d as Big Swankie.”

“Hem—­well, my lad, in so far as that does damage to you, I’m sorry for it; but as regards society at large, I rather think that Swankie havin’ tripped his anchor is a decided advantage.  If you lose by this in one way, you gain much in another; for your mate’s companionship did ye no good.  Birds of a feather should flock together.  You’re better apart, for I believe you to be an honest man, Spink.”

Davy looked at the captain in unfeigned astonishment.

“Weel, ye’re the first man that iver said that, an’ I thank ’ee, sir, but you’re wrang, though I wush ye was right.  But that’s no’ what I cam’ to tell ye.”

Here the fisherman’s indecision of manner returned.  “Come, make a clean breast of it, lad.  There are none here but friends.”

“Weel, sir, Ruby Brand——­”

He paused, and Minnie turned deadly pale, for she jumped at once to the right conclusion.  The widow, on the other hand, listened for more with deep anxiety, but did not guess the truth.

“The fact is, Ruby’s catched too, an’ he’s awa’ to the wars, and he sent me to—­ech, sirs! the auld wuman’s fentit.”