resently a small slippered foot touched the first step of
the companion-way; and then a girl, about fifteen or sixteen, came
into the cabin, and bowing to him, seated herself by the captain of the
schooner. Then, as if ashamed of the formal manner of her greeting, she
rose again, and a smile lit up her beautiful face, as she offered her
hand to him.

Prout, one of those men whose inborn respect for women often makes them
appear nervous, constrained, and awkward in their presence, flushed to
the roots of his hair as she let her soft hand touch his.

"That is Marie, sir," and the skipper glanced somewhat proudly at the
graceful, muslin-clad figure of his daughter. "Marie, this gentleman
says he does not know any English or American ladies here."

The sweet red mouth smiled and the dark eyes danced.

"I'm very glad, father; I would rather go away with you to sea in the
_Mana_ than stay in a strange place."

*****

But Marie Courtayne did not go away; for next morning her father,
through Prout, learned that the French Sisters were willing to take her
as a boarder till the schooner returned, and so to them she went, with
her tender mouth twitching, and her eyes striving to keep back the tears
that would come as she bade her father goodbye.

"You'll go and see my little Marie sometimes, I hope, Mr. Prout?" said
Courtayne, as he bade farewell to the manager of Kalahua.

Prout murmured something in reply, and then the captain of the _Mana_
and he parted.

*****

Three months later the American cruiser _Saranac_ brought the news that
she had spoken the labour schooner _Mana_, Captain Courtayne, off the
island of Marakei, in the Gilbert Group, "all well, and wished to be
reported at Honolulu." After that she, her captain and crew, and the two
hundred Kanaka labourers she had on board, were never heard of again.

For nearly a year Prout and Marie Courtayne waited and hoped for some
tidings of the missing ship, but none came. And every now and then, when
business took him to Honolulu, Prout would call at the Mission School
and try to speak hopefully to her.

"He is dead," she would say apathetically, "and I wish I were dead, too.
I think I shall die soon, if I have to live here."

Then Prout, who had grown to love her, one day plucked up courage to
tell her so, and asked her to be his wife.

"Yes," she said simply, "I will be your wife. You are always kind to
me," and for the first time she put her face up to his.