ond the rounded outline of that soft cheek. Her
eyes, well-nigh hidden by her shrouding "Tam," saw the searching son of
Albion and told her his need. The best of women will find excuse for
interruption at such moments when sure of the devotion of the man who
sits with a fateful question quivering on his lips; and, even when she
longs to hear those very words, will find means to defer them as a kitten
dallies with a captured mouse or a child saves to the very last the
sweetest morsel of her birthday cake. Not ten minutes before, when the
Honorable Bertie Shafto had started impulsively toward the vacant chair
by Armstrong's side, a firm hand detained him, and Miss Prime had hastily
interposed. "Not on any account!" said she, imperiously. "Can't you see?"
And Mr. Shafto, adjusting his monocle, had gazed long and fixedly, and
then, transferring his gaze to her, had said:

"Eh--eh--yes. It's not ours, I suppose you mean."

But now Amy Lawrence was beckoning, and he made a rush for the rail, then
worked his way aft, hand over hand. Every movable on deck was taking a
sudden slant to starboard, and the sea went hissing by almost on level
with the deck as next she spoke. "Surely a soldier needs both arms in
battle, and you--Oh, certainly, Mr. Shafto, take that chair," she added.
Armstrong glanced up suddenly.

"Oh! that you, Shafto? Yes; take it by all means."

Anything, thought he, rather than that they should come here. The young
Briton stepped easily past between them and the rail--behind there was no
room--and, swinging the long, awkwardly modeled fabric to his broad
shoulder, started back just as a huge wave heaved suddenly under the
counter, heeled the steamer far over to port, threw him off his balance,
and, his foot catching at the bottom of her chair, hurled him, load and
all, straight at Amy's reclining form. One instant, and even her uplifted
hands could not have saved her face; but in that instant Armstrong had
darted in, caught the stumbling Briton on one arm, and the full force of
the shooting chair crashing upon the other, already pierced by Filipino
lead.

When, a moment later she emerged, safe and unscratched from the confused
heap of men and furniture, it was to cut off instantly the stutter and
stammer of poor Shafto's apologies, to bid him go instantly for the
ship's doctor, and, with face the color of death, to turn quickly to
Armstrong. The blow had burst open the half-healed wound, and the blood
was s