leanor near that dreadful island, Mr.
Barnaby," was the admonition shouted across the widening gap of water.

It was a quite unnecessary appeal, for Joyce, who was presently sitting
with his wife in a sheltered quarter of the deck, had not the slightest
interest in the smoking cone which was as yet a mere smudge upon the
horizon. Eleanor, with one hand in Joyce's possession, at times watched
it with a seemingly vast apathy until some ardent word from Joyce would
draw her eyes back to his and she would lift to him a smile that was
like a caress. The look of weariness and balked purpose that had once
marked her expression had vanished. In the week since she had married
Joyce she seemed to have grown younger and to be again standing on the
very threshold of life with girlish eagerness. She hung on Joyce's every
word, communing with him hour after hour, utterly content, indifferent
to all the world about her.

In the cabin that evening at dinner, when the two of them deigned to
take polite cognizance of my existence, I announced to Joyce that I
proposed to hug the island pretty close during the night. It would save
considerable time.

"Just as you like, Captain," Joyce replied, indifferently.

"We may get a shower of ashes by doing so, if the wind should shift." I
looked across the table at Mrs. Joyce.

"But we shall reach Malduna that much sooner?" she queried.

I nodded. "However, if you feel any uneasiness, I'll give the island a
wide berth." I didn't like the idea of dragging her--the bride of a
week--past that place with its unspeakable memories, if it should really
distress her.

Her eyes thanked me silently across the table. "It's very kind of you,
but"--she chose her words with significant deliberation--"I haven't a
fear in the world, Mr. Barnaby."

Evening had fallen when we came up on deck. Joyce bethought himself of
some cigars in his state-room and went back. For the moment I was alone
with his wife by the rail, watching the stars beginning to prick through
the darkening sky. The _Sylph_ was running smoothly, with the wind
almost aft; the scud of water past her bows and the occasional creak of
a block aloft were the only sounds audible in the silence that lay like
a benediction upon the sea.

"You may think it unfeeling of me," she began, quite abruptly, "but all
this past trouble of mine, now that it is ended, I have completely
dismissed. Already it begins to seem like a horrid dream. And as for
that