“He was yesterday,” replied Norris; “these fellows from whom you so bravely rescued us told us that much.”

“Thank God!” whispered Billy Byrne.

“What made you think he was dead?” inquired the officer, looking closely at Byrne as though trying to place him.

Another man might have attempted to evade the question but the new Billy Byrne was no coward in any department of his moral or physical structure.

“Because I thought that I had killed him,” he replied, “the day that we took the Lotus.”

Captain Norris looked at the speaker in undisguised horror.

“You!” he cried.  “You were one of those damned cut-throats!  You the man that nearly killed poor Mr. Mallory!  Miss Harding, has he offered you any indignities?”

“Don’t judge him rashly, Captain Norris,” said the girl.  “But for him I should have been dead and worse than dead long since.  Some day I will tell you of his heroism and his chivalry, and don’t forget, Captain, that he has just saved you and Mr. Foster from captivity and probable death.”

“That’s right,” exclaimed the officer, “and I want to thank him; but I don’t understand about Mallory.”

“Never mind about him now,” said Billy Byrne.  “If he’s alive that’s all that counts—­I haven’t got his blood on my hands.  Go on with your story.”

“Well, after that gang of pirates left us,” continued the captain, “we rigged an extra wireless that they didn’t know we had, and it wasn’t long before we raised the warship Alaska.  Her commander put a crew on board the Lotus with machinists and everything necessary to patch her up—­coaled and provisioned her and then lay by while we got her in running order.  It didn’t take near as long as you would have imagined.  Then we set out in company with the warship to search for the ‘Clarinda,’ as your Captain Simms called her.  We got on her track through a pirate junk just north of Luzon—­he said he’d heard from the natives of a little out-of-the-way island near Formosa that a brigantine had been wrecked there in the recent typhoon, and his description of the vessel led us to believe that it might be the ‘Clarinda,’ or Halfmoon.

“We made the island, and after considerable search found the survivors.  Each of ’em tried to lay the blame on the others, but finally they all agreed that a man by the name of Theriere with a seaman called Byrne, had taken you into the interior, and that they had believed you dead until a few days since they had captured one of the natives and learned that you had all escaped, and were wandering in some part of the island unknown to them.

“Then we set out with a company of marines to find you.  Your father, impatient of the seeming slowness of the officer in command, pushed ahead with Mr. Mallory, Mr. Poster, and myself, and two of the men of the Lotus whom he had brought along with us.

“Three days ago we were attacked and your father and Mr. Mallory taken prisoners.  The rest of us escaped, and endeavored to make our way back to the marines, but we became confused and have been wandering aimlessly about the island ever since until we were surprised by these natives a few moments ago.  Both the seamen were killed in this last fight and Mr. Foster and myself taken prisoners—­the rest you know.”