uld be dreadful if
they met and he noticed anything. That was why I wished him to go."

"Then you were only just in time," remarked her brother, "for I hear the
gate go, and--yes, you see."

As he spoke a cheery hail came from outside, with a sharp rat-tat at the
window. Robert stepped out and threw open the door to admit a tall young
man, whose black frieze jacket was all mottled and glistening with snow
crystals. Laughing loudly he shook himself like a Newfoundland dog, and
kicked the snow from his boots before entering the little lamplit room.

Hector Spurling's profession was written in every line of his face.
The clean-shaven lip and chin, the little fringe of side whisker, the
straight decisive mouth, and the hard weather-tanned cheeks all spoke of
the Royal Navy. Fifty such faces may be seen any night of the year round
the mess-table of the Royal Naval College in Portsmouth Dockyard--faces
which bear a closer resemblance to each other than brother does commonly
to brother. They are all cast in a common mould, the products of a
system which teaches early self-reliance, hardihood, and manliness--a
fine type upon the whole; less refined and less intellectual, perhaps,
than their brothers of the land, but full of truth and energy and
heroism. In figure he was straight, tall, and well-knit, with keen grey
eyes, and the sharp prompt manner of a man who has been accustomed both
to command and to obey.

"You had my note?" he said, as he entered the room. "I have to go again,
Laura. Isn't it a bore? Old Smithers is short-handed, and wants me back
at once." He sat down by the girl, and put his brown hand across her
white one. "It won't be a very large order this time," he continued.
"It's the flying squadron business--Madeira, Gibraltar, Lisbon, and
home. I shouldn't wonder if we were back in March."

"It seems only the other day that you landed." she answered.

"Poor little girl! But it won't be long. Mind you take good care of her,
Robert when I am gone. And when I come again, Laura, it will be the last
time mind! Hang the money! There are plenty who manage on less. We need
not have a house. Why should we? You can get very nice rooms in Southsea
at 2 pounds a week. McDougall, our paymaster, has just married, and he
only gives thirty shillings. You would not be afraid, Laura?"

"No, indeed."

"The dear old governor is so awfully cautious. Wait, wait, wait, that's
always his cry. I tell him that he ought to have be