ing away to his cabin, saying that he never knew one room
from another on board ship: they were all so exactly alike; and I
proceeded to scan further fresh arrivals.

One party consisted of a man and his wife. They had recently been turned
out of Venezuela, upon political grounds, and were now going up to St.
Thomas, to meet some friends there and arrange a Revolution. A very
pretty little French girl and her mother were also among the passengers.
The Treasure knew them well, and, when he heard they were coming, grew
excited, and hurried away to shave and change his clothes.

The Treasure's Enchantress was certainly very beautiful, with a slight,
trim figure, great wealth of raven hair and flashing eyes. Moreover, she
appeared to like him, and told me that he always gave her mother the
best cabin in the ship.

There was a scene that night, after we started, between the Treasure and
my brother. It happened thus:

The Enchantress proved to be but an indifferent sailor, and sent for the
Doctor. He was just starting to comfort her when the Treasure arrived.

[Illustration: "THE TREASURE'S ENCHANTRESS."]

"Ill?" he asked. "Ah, I knew she would be, poor girl; she always is.
Tell her to drink a pint of salt water. It's the only thing. If that
fails, tell her to drink another."

The Doctor immediately showed anger. He said:

"Thanks very much. It saves a medical man such a deal of bother when he
has got a chap like you always handy to do the prescriptions. Should you
think two pints of salt water would be enough? Hadn't we better say a
bucket of it?"

"You may be nasty, but it's none the less true that salt water is
right," answered our Treasure. "Just because the thing is a simple,
natural remedy, you doctors turn up your noses at it. I know this case
better than you do. The girl has often sailed with us. Sea-water is what
she wants to steady her. I told her so before dinner."

The Doctor departed, and when he had gone, I asked the Treasure all
about his Enchantress. I said:

"Of course it's no business of mine, but I'm very interested in your
welfare, and might be useful. Where does she live?"

He answered:

"She has two addresses: one in Martinique and one in Paris. I know them
both; but I hardly think I should be justified in divulging them."

"Certainly you would not," I said. "I should be the very last to suggest
it."

"It is a little romance in a small way--I mean her life and her
mother's. The father