ur seat, sir. And the captain sends his compliments, and
hopes to be down before dinner is over."

Roden Musgrave took the seat indicated by the steward. It was the end
chair of one of the three long tables, which ran the length of the
saloon. That at the head of the table was the captain's chair, at
present empty. Unoccupied, too, was the seat on the captain's right.
The others were all filled.

He cast a careless glance over the brilliantly lighted saloon, with its
sparkle of plate and glass and coloured fruit, and vari-hued
dinner-dresses. There were a great many passengers of the usual type.
Some might prove good company. Those in his own immediate neighbourhood
did not look interesting.

In silence he began his dinner, for he felt depressed. It seemed but
yesterday that he was seated exactly as he was now, yet more than a year
had gone by since then. A year is nothing of a time, but this had been
_such_ a year--for it had comprised a great experience. And now he was
leaving this land, whither he had come to try his latter-day fortune;
leaving it for ever; himself in far worse case than when he had first
sighted it. A hand dropped on his shoulder, and his musings were
dispelled.

"Well, Musgrave, I'm glad we're to have the voyage home together, and it
has come about sooner than either of us expected." And Captain Cheyne,
resplendent in gold lace and shining buttons, slid into his seat at the
head of the table. They had met already on board and exchanged a
hurried greeting in the bustle of hauling out, but had had no time for
more than a word.

"Yes, I arranged it so, when I saw that you had got this ship. I say,
though," looking around. "She's a cut above the old _Siberian_, both in
size and fittings, eh?"

"She is. Well, and how have you been getting on? Been at that place--
er--er--I forgot the name--that none of us knew where to find, ever
since?"

"No. I've just come off Pilgrim's Rest gold-fields, so called,
presumably, because the `pilgrims' leave there the _rest_ of whatever
they took with them."

Two or three in the neighbourhood laughed at this, and the conversation
became general. But Roden dropped out of it. Mechanically, he took up
the wine-list, and began studying it. While thus engaged he heard the
rustle of skirts. The occupant of the empty chair was seating herself.
Even then, so utterly without interest in her identity was he, that he
did not immediately look up.

"