hear as it brushed the surface of the harbour wall,
making the reflection of the large stars in the water alongside twinkle
and widen out, and putting a perfume of fresh seaweed into the
atmosphere, though the draught, such as it was, came from a malodorous
quarter.

I led Grace to the little companion hatch, and together we entered the
cabin. The lamp burnt brightly; the skylight lay open, and the
interior was cool and sweet with several pots of flowers which I had
sent aboard in the afternoon. It was a little box of a place, as you
will suppose, of a dandy craft of twenty-six tons; but I had not spared
my purse in decorating it, and I believe no prettier interior of the
kind in a vessel of the size of the _Spitfire_ was in those times
afloat. There were two sleeping-rooms, one forward and one aft. The
after cabin was little better than a hole, and this I occupied. The
berth forward, on the other hand, was as roomy as the dimensions of the
little ship would allow, and I had taken care that it lacked nothing to
render it a pleasant, I may say an elegant, sea bedroom. It was to be
Grace's until I got her ashore, and this I counted upon managing by the
following Friday, that is to say in about four days from the date of
this night about which I am writing.

She stood at the table looking about her, breathing fast, her eyes
large with alarm, excitement, I know not what other sensations and
emotions. I wish I knew how to praise her, how to describe her.
"Sweet" is the best word to express her girlish beauty. Though she was
three months short of eighteen years of age, she might readily have
passed for twenty-one, so womanly was her figure, as though, indeed,
she was of tropic breeding and had been reared under suns which quickly
ripen a maiden's beauty. But to say more would be to say what? The
liquid brown of her large and glowing eyes--the dark and delicate
bronze of her rich abundant hair--the suggestion of a pout in the turn
of her lip, that gave an incomparable air of archness to her expression
when her countenance was in repose--to enumerate these things--to
deliver a catalogue of her graces in the most felicitous language that
love and the memory of love could dictate, is yet to leave all that I
could wish to say unsaid.

"At last, Grace!" I exclaimed, lifting her hand to my lips. "How is it
with you now, my pet?"

She seated herself, and hid her face in her hands upon the table,
saying, "I don't know