tter to come to you myself. What is your business with
her, sir, and what is your name?"

"My name is Charles Rockwell," I said, "and my business is to see her.
If she has already forgotten my name, you can tell her that I kept
company with her for a while on the Atlantic Ocean, when she was in one
wreck and I was in another."

"Good heavens!" cried the young sailor; "do you mean to say that you
are the man who was on the derelict _Sparhawk_? And were you picked up
by Captain Stearns, whom I sent after you? I supposed he would have
written to me about you."

"I came faster than a letter would come," I answered. "Can I see her?"

"Of course you can!" cried Captain Guy. "I never knew a man so talked
about as you have been since I fell in with the wreck of that French
steamer! By George! sir, there was a time when I was dead jealous of
you. But I'm married tight and fast now, and that sort of thing is done
with. Of course you shall see her."

He left the room, and presently I heard the sound of running footsteps.
The door was opened, and Mary Phillips entered, closely followed by the
captain. I started back; I shouted as if I had a speaking-trumpet to
my mouth:--

"What!" I cried; "is this your wife?"

"Yes," said Captain Guy, stepping forward, "of course she is. Why not?"
I made no answer, but with open arms I rushed upon Mary Phillips and
folded her in a wild embrace. I heard a burst of nautical oaths, and
probably would have been felled by a nautical fist, had not Mary
screamed to her husband:--

"Stop, Guy!" she cried; "I understand him. It's all right. He's so glad
to see me."

I released her from my embrace, and, staggering back, sank upon a
chair.

"Go get him a glass of sherry, Guy," she said, and wheeling up a great
easy-chair, she told me to sit in it, for I looked dreadfully tired. I
took the chair, and when the wine was brought I drank it.

"Where is Miss Nugent?" I asked.

"Miss Nugent is all right," said Mary Phillips, "but I'm not going to
tell you a word about her or anything else until you've had some
breakfast. I know you have not tasted food this day."

I admitted that I had not. I would eat, I would do anything, so that
afterward she would tell me about Bertha.

When I had a cup of coffee and some toast which Mary brought to me upon
a tray, I arose from my chair.

"Now tell me quickly," I said, "where is Bertha?"

"Not a bit of it," said Mary Phillips--I call her so, for I shall ne