eated himself in a sheltered corner of the vessel, hoping that the
sea-breeze might bring him back some remnant of his lost strength. The
ship's surgeon had advised him to get a little fresh air as soon as he
felt himself able to bear it; so he sat in his obscure nook, very
helpless and very feeble, meditating upon what he should do when the
final moment came and he had to claim his wife.

He had no idea of making his wrongs known to the captain, unless as a
last desperate resource. He could not bring himself to make Marian the
subject of a vulgar squabble. No, it was to herself alone he would
appeal; it was in the natural instinct of her own heart that he would
trust.

Very long and weary seemed the remaining hours of that joyless voyage.
Mr. Saltram was fain to go back to his cabin after an hour on deck, there
to lie and await the morrow. He had need to husband his strength for the
coming encounter. The steward told him in the evening that Mrs. Holbrook
had not dined in the saloon that day, as usual. She had kept her cabin
closely, and complained of illness.

The morning dawned at last, after what had seemed an endless night to
John Saltram, lying awake in his narrow berth--a bleak blusterous
morning, with the cold gray light staring in at the port-hole, like an
unfriendly face. There was no promise in such a daybreak; it was only
light, and nothing more.

Mr. Saltram, having duly deliberated the matter during the long hours of
that weary night, had decided that his wisest course was to lie _perdu_
until the last moment, the very moment of landing, and then to come
boldly forward and make his claim. It was useless to waste his strength
in any futile endeavour to baffle so hardy a scoundrel as Percival
Nowell. At the last, when Marian was leaving the ship, it would be time
for him to assert his right as her husband, and to defy the wretch who
had beguiled her away from him.

Having once arrived at this decision, he was able to await the issue of
events with some degree of tranquility. He had no doubt, even now, of his
wife's affection for him, no fear as to the ultimate triumph of her love
over all the lies and artifices of that scheming scoundrel, her father.

It was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon when the steward came to
tell him that they were on the point of arriving at their destination.
The wharf where they were to land was within sight. The man had promised
to give him due warning of this event, and