person was absent; even Mr. Allyne, looking a bit
pale and reserved, sat back in one corner, half screened by his
companion, and near the open doors and windows, clustered the servants
and such part of the crew as were off duty, their dark faces and
turbaned heads forming an artistic contrast to the whiter-skinned race
who sat within.

At the precise hour named, the captain, exquisitely trim in his dark
uniform, with his kindly, weatherbeaten, but clean-shaven face, took
his place by one of the tables and looking gently around with his keen,
pleasant eyes, began the slow, impressive reading of the special
prayers assigned to the seamen's service. Faith and Hope had never
seen him in this role before, and the former felt her eyes fill, while
the latter suddenly put out a hand and clasped her twin's in a little
ecstasy of admiring appreciation. Neither had even looked towards
young Allyne, nor Chester Carnegie. The latter, grave and attentive,
sat near one of the open doors and followed the service without a
glance about him. It was an hour of gentle solemnity, which affected
even the lightest heart.

Allyne had wakened wretched, with a headache, only to be told by his
friend of the grave misdemeanors of last night.

"And," added Donelson, "the captain came to ask me about it later, but
you were asleep, so we let you alone."

"Heavens! Did I make such a beast of myself, Jack? You certainly
exaggerate."

"Not a particle. Believe me, it's serious. The little girls were
white as paper, and Carnegie looked like the marble gladiator. I tell
you, you're in a pickle."

Allyne groaned and turned over in his bunk.

"Why didn't you stop me in time?" he questioned fiercely, with an oath.

"Oh, you needn't swear at me, Tom Allyne! I'm not your keeper. When
you know what champagne does for you, why don't you stop yourself in
time?"

"Why don't I? Because then I don't know enough to stop, idiot! The
first glass goes to my head, I tell you."

"Then you'd better not touch the first glass," returned Donelson
airily, as he vigorously plied his military brushes to his sleek brown
poll. "It's a misfortune to be so weak in the upper story, Tom."

"Humph! I'd rather be weak in liquor than when sober," was muttered
from the bunk.

Donelson turned quickly.

"See here, young man, if you want to quarrel with your best friend, all
right! I've stood by you so far, and dragged you out of the deepest
danger, but if y