e dock, ready for sea--ready for her draft of men in
the morning, and with no one on board for the night but the executive
officer, who, with something on his mind, had elected to remain, while
the captain and other commissioned officers went ashore for the night.

Four years at the Naval Academy, a two years' sea cruise, and a year of
actual service had made many changes in Denman. He was now twenty-five,
an ensign, but, because of his position as executive, bearing the
complimentary title of lieutenant.

He was a little taller and much straighter and squarer of shoulder than
when he had gone to the academy. He had grown a trim mustache, and the
sun and winds of many seas had tanned his face to the color of his eyes;
which were of a clear brown, and only in repose did they now show the
old-time preponderance of white beneath the brown.

In action these eyes looked out through two slits formed by nearly
parallel eyelids, and with the tightly closed lips and high arching
eyebrows--sure sign of the highest and best form of physical and moral
courage--they gave his face a sort of "take care" look, which most men
heeded.

Some women would have thought him handsome, some would not; it all
depended upon the impression they made on him, and the consequent look
in his eyes.

At Annapolis he had done well; he was the most popular man of his class,
had won honors from his studies and fist fights from his fellows, while
at sea he had shown a reckless disregard for his life, in such matters
as bursting flues, men overboard, and other casualties of seafaring,
that brought him many type-written letters from Washington, a few
numbers of advancement, and the respect and admiration of all that knew
or had heard of him.

His courage, like Mrs. Caesar's morals, was above suspicion. Yet there
was one man in the world who was firmly convinced that Lieutenant
Denman had a yellow streak in him, and that man was Denman himself.

He had never been home since his departure for Annapolis. He had
promised a small girl that if he came back there would be another fight,
in which, as he mentally vowed, he would redeem himself. In this he had
been sincere, but as the months at the academy went on, with the
unsettled fight still in the future, his keen resentment died away,
leaving in its place a sense of humiliation and chagrin.

He still meant to go back, however, and would have done so when vacation
came; but a classmate invited him to his