owland raised his eyebrows slightly, and
Dan, taking his cue, raised his eyebrows too.

And so the _Tampico_ sailed peacefully south-ward. The April sun
softened the air, the sea was like glass, and by the time the steamship
had picked up the Southern Cross, the little company had been tried in
the balance of propinquity and found not wanting.

It was brilliant moonlight, and eight bells chimed sweetly over the
silvery waters from the forecastle head, as Dan, with a cheery good
evening, followed the first mate to the bridge. The second mate smiled
genially, gave the course as south half east, and, with his dog-watch
ended, went to bed. A gruff voice rolled along the deck.

"The watch is aft, sir!"

Dan's voice hurled astern before the echoes died.

"All right. Relieve the wheel--and the lookout!"

Virginia, addressing a merry group on the hurricane deck, just below
and aft the bridge, paused in the middle of a sentence and listened to
the sharp, crisp words. Then she smiled slightly and resumed her
discourse.

Dan paced up and down with the mate, taking up the thread of the talk
where it had been left the previous watch; but neither was in a talking
mood, and they soon fell silent. Presently a girl's rich voice rose to
the accompaniment of Oddington's banjo, an instrument but poorly
adapted to the motif of the music, which was plaintive, yearning. The
deep contralto notes brought full meed of meaning, although the words
were German; low, deep, uncertain at first--the ponderings of love, of
devotion, of doubt--then swelling loud and full and free at the end;
love justified, undying, triumphant, overpowering.

"Koennt' fuehlen je das Glueck das ich wuerd nennen mein
Haett' ich nur Dich allein! Haett' ich nur Dich, nur Dich allein!"

Then suddenly in wild rapture she broke from the German, repeating the
refrain in English--

". . . The rapture that would be my own
If I had you . . . if I had you . . . you."

Piercing sweet it ended, filled with tenderness. Just you, you, you,
going on far across the moon-lit waters into infinity. Dan walked to
the lee of the bridge and with hands on the dodger's ridge, leaned
forward, peering bard and straight to the rim of the sea.

For every heart there is a song, and for every song a heart; for this
earth is not so big that the dreams, the passion of some song-maker,
humble or not, may not strike a responsive chord, at the other end of
the world, it may