not fear to trust herself in that vessel which had once almost been
her grave, with the man who had saved her from that grave. Windham
showed himself a first-rate sailor. Zillah wondered greatly how he
could have added this to his other accomplishments, but did not
venture to ask him. There was a great gulf between them; and to have
asked any personal question, however slight, would have been an
attempt to leap that gulf. She dared not ask any thing. She herself
was in a false position. She was living under an assumed name, and
constant watchfulness was necessary. The name "Lorton" had not yet
become familiar to her ears. Often when addressed, she caught herself
thinking that some one else was spoken to. But after all, as to the
question of Windham's seamanship, that was a thing which was not at
all wonderful, since every Englishman of any rank is supposed to own
a yacht, and to know all about it.

Often Obed and his family went out with them; but often these two
went out alone. Perhaps there was a conventional impropriety in this;
but neither Obed nor his sister thought of it; Windham certainly was
not the one to regard it; and Zillah was willing to shut her eyes to
it. And so for many days they were thrown together. Cruising thus
over the Mediterranean, that glory of seas--the blue, the dark, the
deep--where the transparent water shows the sea depths far down, with
all the wonders of the sea; where the bright atmosphere shows sharply
defined the outlines of distant objects--cruising here on the
Mediterranean, where France stretches out her hand to Italy; where on
the horizon the purple hills arise, their tops covered with a diadem
of snow; where the air breathes balm, and the tideless sea washes
evermore the granite base of long mountain chains, evermore wearing
away and scattering the debris along the sounding beach. Cruising
over the Mediterranean--oh! what is there on earth equal to this?
Here was a place, here was scenery, which might remain forever fixed
in the memories of both of these, who now, day after day, under these
cloudless skies, drifted along. Drifting? Yes, it was drifting. And
where were they drifting to? Where? Neither of them asked. In fact,
they were drifting nowhere; or, rather, they were drifting to that
point where fate would interpose, and sever them, to send them onward
upon their different courses. They might drift for a time; but, at
last, they must separate, and then--what? Would they ever