et now when he had opportunity to accuse her, not one word did he
attempt. She was warmed and comforted by the chocolate and the food. She
enjoyed the second cup just brought her. She begged the stewardess to
stay, yet only faintly protested when told she had to go. Once again
Pancha was alone when the chiming tinkle, four bells, told that ten
o'clock had come, and then for a moment she turned cold again and shrank
within her rugs and wraps, for Loring slowly and deliberately rose and
looked toward her. Now he was coming. Now he would speak. Now he would
demand of her to explain her part in the wicked thing that had happened.
She dreaded, yet she longed to say, for she had a story that she could
eagerly tell--to him. For a moment her heart lay still, and then leaped
and fluttered uncontrollably. Slowly the shadowy fellow-passenger had
found his feet. Steadily he looked, as though straight at her, for
nearly a minute, then as slowly and deliberately turned his back and
walked away forward. When, nearly an hour later, the stewardess came to
lead her below, and the purser and one of the ship's officers had both
been to inquire if she felt better, and to tell her to be of good cheer,
she'd be all right on the morrow and trolling for dolphin on the blue
Pacific, though she saw Loring slowly pacing up and down, though twice
he passed so close to her that by stretching forth her tiny foot she
could have checked or tripped him, not once again did she detect so much
as a glance at her.

And yet, when a little later the stewardess tucked her in her white
berth, and invented messages and inquiries from her prostrated aunt and
cousins in neighboring staterooms, that designing woman wove a tale
about the blue-eyed, silent officer pacing the lonely deck--how anxious
he was to do something for the little invalid--how eagerly he had gone
and ordered for her, and superintended the preparation of that dainty
little supper--how he had bidden the stewardess to stay by her and
soothe her, and was so deeply interested. High and low, rich and poor,
they love romance, these tender hearts, and for that reason, doubtless,
no reference did Madame Flores make of the five-dollar gold-piece that
had found its way to her ready palm. "And he spoke Spanish beautifully,
did the Senor Teniente," said Madame Flores, whereat did Pancha's heart
begin to flutter anew, for that meant that he must have heard and
understood her pleadings.

And so it happened t