y comfortably seated on the rail,
baring his white teeth to the sunshine.

"Just about enough to blow out a farthing dip," said Sebright, in a
disappointed mutter.

He thought, however, we had better not wait for more. There would be too
much presently. Some sailors hauled the boat alongside, the rest lined
the rail as for a naval spectacle, and Williams stared blankly. We were
waiting for Seraphina, who appeared, attended by Mrs. Williams, looking
more kind, bloodless, and ascetic than ever. But my girl's cheeks
glowed; her eyes sparkled audaciously. She had done up her hair in some
way that made it fit her head like a cap. It became her exceedingly, and
the decision of her movements, the white serenity of her brow, dazzled
me as if I had never seen her before. She seemed less childlike, older,
ripe for this adventure in a new development of strength and courage.
She inclined her head slowly at the gaping sailors, who had taken their
caps off.

As soon as she appeared, Castro, who had been leaning against the
bulwark, started up, and with a muttered "_Adios, Senores_," went down
the overside ladder and ensconced himself in the bow of the boat. The
leave-taking was hurried over. Williams gave no sign of feeling, except,
perhaps, for the greater intensity of his stare, which passed beyond our
shoulders in the very act of handshaking. Sebright helped Seraphina down
into the boat, and ran up again nimbly. Mrs. Williams, with her slim
hand held in both mine, uttered a few incoherent words--about men's
promises and the happiness of women, as I thought; but, truth to say,
my own suppressed excitement was too considerable for close attention.
I only knew that I had given her my confidence, that complete and utter
confidence which neither wisdom nor power alone, can command. And,
suddenly, it occurred to me that the heiress of a splendid name and
fortune, down in the boat there, had no better friend in the world than
this woman, who had come to us out of the waste of the sea, opening her
simple heart to our need, like a pious and naive hermit in a wilderness
throwing open the door of his cell to strange wayfarers.

"Mrs. Williams," I stammered. "If we--if I--there's no saying what may
happen to any of us. If she ever comes to you--if she ever is in want of
help...."

"Yes, yes. Always, always--like my own daughter."

And the good woman broke down, as if, indeed, I were taking her own
daughter away.

"Nonsense, Mary!" W