When poor King Karoo looked seaward at sunrise next morning, never a sign of ship was there, nor on the distant horizon.
She had sailed away in the middle watch.
* * * * *
The owners of the blackbirding barque, which had been so cleverly captured off the cannibal island, served their own interests, I think, by denying all knowledge of her, when written to on the subject. She was a splendid clipper, and must have cost a deal to build. But she now became the property of her captors, and when paid off in Southampton waters, the black-bearded mate and his men were very glad to get off scot-free. They had not expected such leniency.
The vessel herself was sold at a good figure, and Stransom had his share, which was a good and a solid one. He disappears from our story, and so, too, does the barque.
Fitzroy and his people had their shares also, and Johnnie’s father was now able to set up as a music publisher in London.
He is there now, in winter that is. If you want to know where he is in summer, reader, you must read on.
* * * * *
Dr. Annandale was sitting in his easy-chair one summer evening, when his servant entered with a silver salver in his hand, on which lay a card with the simple inscription—
“Reginald Fitzroy.”