e whole social scale divide them. They
say that Love will conquer all obstacles and unite the yearning pair.
They are a sentimental, optimistic lot, who thus declaim. Martin, when
he thought the matter over, inclined to their belief. Only--the
trouble was that Ruth did not seem to exactly recognize or welcome her
predestined fate.

But there is another theory of love. Any shiny-pated wise man will
give the formula.

"Love at first sight! Bosh!" says the wise man. "Love is merely a
strong, complex emotion inspired in persons by propinquity plus
occasion!"

Perhaps. Certainly, the emotion Martin felt from the time he spoke his
first word to Ruth LeMoyne, was strong enough and complex enough to
tinge his every thought. And the propinquity was close enough and
piquant enough to flutter the heart of a monk--which Martin was not.
And a headlong young man like Martin Blake could be trusted to make the
occasion.

He made several occasions. His journey along Cupid's path was filled
with the sign-posts of those occasions.

Off duty, Ruth and he were boon companions, during the rather rare
hours when she was not in attendance upon the blind captain or asleep.
Martin stinted himself of rest, Ruth was too old a sailor for that.

The dog-watches, and, after they had gained the fine weather, the early
hours of the first watch, were their hours of communion. They eagerly
discussed books, plays, dreams, the sea, their quest, and themselves.
They called each other by their first names, in comradely fashion.
Oftentimes Little Billy joined them and enlivened the session with his
pungent remarks, or, on the fine evenings, treated them with wonderful,
melting songs.

Martin had the uneasy feeling that Little Billy, of all the men on the
ship, divined his passion for Ruth. He seemed to feel, also, that
Little Billy was, in a sense, a rival; with a lover's insight, he read
the dumb adoration in the hunchback's eyes whenever the latter looked
at, or spoke of, the mate.

But, of course, Ruth knew what was in Martin's mind and heart. Trust a
daughter of Eve to read the light in a man's eyes, be she ever so
unpractised by experience. It is her heritage. Nor did Martin attempt
concealment of his love for very long. A dashing onslaught was
Martin's nature.

Ruth teased him and deftly parried his crude attempts to make the grand
passion the sole topic of their chats. She would hold him at arm's
length, and then for a swif