Alister had something to lose.  It was not a small consideration to give up his mate’s berth, but he said the whole conduct of the ship was “against his conscience,” and that settled the matter, to him.

When we were our own masters once more, we held another big council about our future.  If I went home at once, I must, somehow or other, get back to Halifax before I could profit by Uncle Henry’s arrangement.  If Dennis went home, he must equally depend on himself, for there was no saying when the Squire would, or would not, find out and rectify his omission.  Alister’s mother had sent him some stamps for postage, and his paternal relative had sent him a message to the effect that having had neither word nor wittens of him for a considerable period, and having feared the worst, he was thankful to learn of his safe arrival in Halifax, Nova Scotia; and trusted that the step he had taken, if a thought presumptuous at his years, yet betokened a spirit of self-reliance, and might prove not otherwise than conducive to his welfare in the outcome.

Altogether, we were, practically, as much dependent on ourselves as when we sat under the pine-trees in Nova Scotia.

“We’ll look up my cousin, to begin with,” said Dennis.

“Are ye pairfectly convinced that he’s here?” asked Alister, warned by his own experience.

“Certainly,” said Dennis.

“Have ye corresponded with him of late?” pursued Alister.

“Not I, indeed.  The O’Moores are by no means good letter-writers at the best of times, but he’d have let us know if he was dead, anyhow, and if he’s alive, we’ll be as welcome as the flowers.”

Before Alister could reply, he was interrupted by a message from our late captain.  The Water-Lily was still in harbour, and the captain wanted the ex-mate to help him on some matters connected with the ship or her cargo.  Alister would not refuse, and he was to be paid for the job, so we hastily arranged that he should go, and that Dennis and I should devote the evening to looking up the Irish cousin, and we appointed to meet on the “stelling” or wharf, alongside of which the Water-Lily lay, at eleven o’clock on the following morning.

“I was a fool not to speak to that engineer fellow the other night,” said Dennis, as we strolled on the shady side of a wide street, down the middle of which ran a wide water-dyke fringed with oleanders.  “He would be certain to know where my cousin’s place is.”

“Do you know him?” I asked, with some eagerness, for the young officer was no small hero in my eyes.

“Oh, yes, quite well.  He’s a lieutenant in the Engineers.  He has often stayed at my father’s for shooting.  But he has been abroad the last two or three years, and I suppose I’ve grown.  He didn’t know—­”

“There he is!” said I.

He was coming out of a garden-gate on the other side of the street.  But he crossed the road, saying, “Hi, my lads!” and putting his hand into his pocket as he came.