n to the bulwarks had been the last effort of that
prince of demons, sea-sickness, rending her ere he left. When the
occasion for remaining there had thus passed away, she soon tired of
her cabin and of listening to the inarticulate moans of her beloved
Agatha, who was a most faithful subject of the fiend, one who would
never desert his manner so long as he could roll the tiniest wave,
and, sallying forth, took up her position in the little society of the
ship.

But between Arthur and herself there was no attempt at reconciliation.
Each felt their wrongs to be as eternal as the rocks. At luncheon they
looked unutterable things from different sides of the table; going in
to dinner, she cut him with the sweetest grace, and on the following
morning they naturally removed to situations as remote from each other
as the cubic area of a mail steamer would allow.

"Pretty, very much so, but ill-mannered; not quite a lady, I should
say," reflected Arthur to himself, with a superior smile.

"I detest him," said Mrs. Carr to herself, "at least, I think I do;
but how neatly he put me down! There is no doubt about his being a
gentleman, though insufferably conceited."

These uncharitable thoughts rankled in their respective minds about 12
A.M. What then was Arthur's disgust, on descending a little late to
luncheon that day, to be informed by the resplendent chief-steward--
who, for some undiscovered reason, always reminded him of Pharaoh's
butler--that the captain had altered the places at table, and that
this alteration involved his being placed next to none other than Mrs.
Carr. Everybody was already seated, and it was too late to protest, at
any rate for that meal; so he had to choose between submission and
going without his luncheon. Being extremely hungry, he decided for the
first alternative, and reluctantly brought himself to a halt next his
avowed enemy.

But surprises, like sorrows, come in battalions, a fact that he very
distinctly realized when, having helped himself to some chicken, he
heard a clear voice at his side address him by name.

"Mr. Heigham," said the voice, "I have not yet thanked you for your
kindness to Miss Terry. I am commissioned to assure you that she is
very grateful, since she is prevented by circumstances from doing so
herself."

"I am much gratified," he replied, stiffly; "but really I did nothing
to deserve thanks, and if I had," he added, with a touch of sarcasm,
"I should not have expect