ned below,
lingering over their wine.

"Oh, how refreshing this cool evening breeze is, after the closeness and
heat of the saloon!" exclaimed Violet as, leaning on Rex Fortescue's
arm, she gazed astern where the sun was just sinking out of sight
beneath the purple horizon, leaving behind him a cloudless sky which
glowed in his track with purest gold and rose tints, merging insensibly
into a clear ultramarine, deepening in tone as the eye travelled up to
the zenith and thence downward toward the eastern quarter where, almost
before the upper rim of the sun's golden disc had sunk out of sight, a
great star beamed out from the velvety background, glowing with that
soft mellow effulgence which seems peculiar to southern skies.

"Yes," responded Rex, "it _is_ cool and decidedly pleasant. Do you not
think it is almost _too_ cool, however, to be braved without a shawl or
wrap of some kind after being cooped up for an hour in that roasting
saloon. I cannot think why it should have been so warm this evening; to
my mind it was hotter even than when we were crossing the line on the
outward voyage."

Blanche and Lance, who were standing near enough to overhear these
remarks, were also of opinion that it had been quite uncomfortably warm
below, and the two gentlemen, who by this time had arrived at that stage
of intimacy with the ladies which seemed to justify them in their own
eyes for assuming an occasional dictatorial air toward their fair
companions, forthwith insisted on returning below to seek for shawls or
wraps of some kind.

"Phew! it is like walking into a Turkish bath to come in here,"
exclaimed Rex, as he passed through the saloon doors; "and what a
peculiar smell!"

"Yes," assented Lance. "Smells like oil or grease of some kind. I
expect the steward has spilled some lamp-oil down in the lazarette, and
the heat is causing the odour to rise. I hope it will pass off before
we turn-in to-night, for it is decidedly objectionable."

"Do you know, Miss Lascelles," said Lance, as he settled himself
comfortably in a chair by that young lady's side, after carefully
enveloping her in a soft fleecy wrap, "I have an idea in connection with
that touching story you told me the other night respecting your uncle's
loss of his wife and infant son."

"Have you, indeed?" said Blanche. "And pray, what is it, Mr Evelin?"

"Simply this," replied Lance. "I have an impression--almost a
conviction--that your cousin is living, a