racted by that elusive something--a line, a fold, perhaps
the form of the eye, the droop of an eyelid, the curve of a cheek, that
trifling trait which on no two faces on earth is alike, that in each
face is the very foundation of expression, as if, all the rest being
heredity, mystery, or accident, it alone had been shaped consciously by
the soul within.

Now and then he bent slightly over the slow beat of a red fan in the
curve of the deck chair to say a few words to Mrs. Travers, who answered
him without looking up, without a modulation of tone or a play of
feature, as if she had spoken from behind the veil of an immense
indifference stretched between her and all men, between her heart and
the meaning of events, between her eyes and the shallow sea which, like
her gaze, appeared profound, forever stilled, and seemed, far off in the
distance of a faint horizon, beyond the reach of eye, beyond the power
of hand or voice, to lose itself in the sky.

Mr. Travers stepped aside, and speaking to Carter, overwhelmed him with
reproaches.

"You misunderstood your instructions," murmured Mr. Travers rapidly.
"Why did you bring this man here? I am surprised--"

"Not half so much as I was last night," growled the young seaman,
without any reverence in his tone, very provoking to Mr. Travers.

"I perceive now you were totally unfit for the mission I entrusted you
with," went on the owner of the yacht.

"It's he who got hold of me," said Carter. "Haven't you heard him
yourself, sir?"

"Nonsense," whispered Mr. Travers, angrily. "Have you any idea what his
intentions may be?"

"I half believe," answered Carter, "that his intention was to shoot me
in his cabin last night if I--"

"That's not the point," interrupted Mr. Travers. "Have you any opinion
as to his motives in coming here?"

Carter raised his weary, bloodshot eyes in a face scarlet and peeling as
though it had been licked by a flame. "I know no more than you do, sir.
Last night when he had me in that cabin of his, he said he would just as
soon shoot me as let me go to look for any other help. It looks as if
he were desperately bent upon getting a lot of salvage money out of a
stranded yacht."

Mr. Travers turned away, and, for a moment, appeared immersed in deep
thought. This accident of stranding upon a deserted coast was annoying
as a loss of time. He tried to minimize it by putting in order the notes
collected during the year's travel in the East. He had sen