."

"I don't want to hear secrets," said Cutbill, bluntly; "all the more
that you and I are strangers to each other. I don't think either of us
has had a good look at the other's face yet."

"I've seen yours, and I don't distrust it," said the Frenchman.

"Good-night, then, there's a civil speech to go to sleep over," and so
saying, he rolled over to the other side, and drew his blanket over his
head.

Pracontal lay a long time awake, thinking of the strange companion he
had chanced upon, and that still stranger amount of intimacy that had
grown up between them. "I suppose," muttered he to himself, "I must be
the most indiscreet fellow in the world; but after all, what have I said
that he has not read in the newspapers, or may not read next week or the
week after? I know how Kelson would condemn me for this careless
habit of talking of myself and my affairs to the first man I meet on a
railroad or a steamer; but I must be what nature made me, and after all,
if I show too much of my hand, I gain something by learning what the
bystanders say of it."

It was not till nigh daybreak that he dropped off to sleep; and when he
awoke it was to see Mr. Cutbill with a large bowl of hot coffee in one
hand, and a roll in the other, making an early breakfast; a very rueful
figure, too, was he--as, black with smoke and coal-dust, he propped
himself against the binnacle, and gazed out over the waste of waters.

"You are a good sailor, I see, and don't fear sea-sickness," said
Praoontal.

"Don't I? that's all you know of it; but I take everything they bring
me. There's a rasher on its way to me now, if I survive this."

"I'm for a basin of cold water and coarse towels," said the other,
rising.

"That's two points in your favor towards having English blood in you,"
said Cutbill, gravely, for already his qualms were returning; "when
a fellow tells you he cares for soap, he can't be out and out a
Frenchman." This speech was delivered with great difficulty, and when it
was done he rolled over and covered himself up, over face and head, and
spoke no more.

CHAPTER LIV. THE LETTER BAG.

"What a mail-bag!" cried Nelly, as she threw several letters on the
breakfast-table; the same breakfast-table being laid under a spreading
vine, all draped and festooned with a gorgeous clematis.

"I declare," said Augustus, "I'd rather look out yonder, over the blue
gulf of Cattaro, than see all the post could bring me."

"This is for y