ome few moments her face remained empty
of intelligence.

"Why, Grace, my darling," I cried, "do not you know where you are?"

"Yes, now I do," she answered, "but I thought I had gone mad when I
first awoke and looked around me."

"You have slept soundly, but then you are a child," said I.

"Whereabouts are we, Herbert?"

"I cannot tell for sure," I answered, "out of sight of land anyway.
But where you are, Grace, you ought to know. Now, don't sigh. We are
not here to be miserable."

A few caresses, and then her timid glances began to show like the old
looks in her. I asked her if the movement of the yacht rendered her
uneasy, and after a pause, during which she considered with a grave
face, she answered no: she felt better, she must try to stand--and so
saying she stood up on the swaying deck, and, smiling with her fine
eyes fastened upon my face, poised her figure in a floating way full of
a grace far above dancing, to my fancy. Her gaze went to a mirror, and
I easily interpreted her thoughts, though, for my part, I found her
beauty improved by her roughened hair.

"There is your cabin," said I; "the door is behind those curtains.
Take a peep, and tell me if it pleases you?"

There were flowers in it to sweeten the atmosphere, and every
imaginable convenience that it was possible for a male imagination to
hit upon in its efforts in a direction of this sort. She praised the
little berth, and closed the door with a smile at me that made me
conjecture I should not hear much more from her about our imprudence,
the impropriety of our conduct, what mam'selle would think, and what
the school girls would say.

Though she was but a child, as I would tell her, I too was but a boy
for the matter of that, and her smile and the look she had given me,
and her praise of the little berth I had fitted up for her made me feel
so boyishly joyous that, like a boy as I was, though above six feet
tall, I fell a whistling out of my high spirits, and then kissed the
feather in her hat, and her gloves, which lay upon the table,
afterwards springing, in a couple of bounds, on deck, where I stood
roaring out for Bobby Allett.

A seaman named Job Crew was at the helm. Two others named Jim Foster
and Dick Files were washing down the decks. I asked Crew where Caudel
was, and he told me he had gone below to shave. I bawled again for
Bobby Allett, and after a moment or two he rose through the forecastle
hatch. He was a youth of