m
speaking to her of these relations; now, urged by necessity, I brought
them to light; but what they might be, or whether they still existed in
Rotterdam I knew no more than did Phil.

"Mynheer van Buren is a known man," said the caretaker. "You not send
for him. I think the boat is to you, missus. What you want do?"

"First of all, we want to go on board and look at her," I replied.

This time, rather to my surprise, he made no objections. A dark pall of
resignation had fallen upon him. In such a mood as his, an Indian woman
would go to Suttee without a qualm. He pulled the boat to shore, placed
a plank, and with a thrilling pride of possession we walked on board.

There were some steep steps which led down from the deck to the cabin,
and Phyllis and I descended, Mr. Paasma stolidly following, with an
extraordinary expression on his walnut face. It was not exactly
despairing, or defiant, or angry, or puzzled; but it held something
of each one of these emotions.

However, I soon forgot about the caretaker and his feelings in
admiration of "Lorelei." Aft, you looked down into the motor-room, with
a big monster of machinery, which I respected but didn't understand.
From that, when you'd crossed a little passage, you had to go down some
more steps into a cabin which was so charming that I stood still on the
threshold, and said, "Oh!"

"Why, it's prettier than our drawing-room!" exclaimed Phil; "and my
favorite colors too, green and white. It's almost like a boudoir. Who
could have supposed Captain Noble would have so much taste? And do look
at that darling old Dutch clock over the--the buffet or whatever it is,
with all the little ships rocking on the waves every time it ticks."

We were both so much excited now that we began to talk together, neither
of us listening to the other. We opened the door of what Phil called the
"buffet," and found neat little piles of blue-and-white china. There
were tiny tablecloths and napkins too, and knives and forks and spoons.
On one of the seats (which could be turned into berths at night) stood a
smart tea-basket. We peeped inside, and it was the nicest tea-basket
imaginable, which must have come from some grand shop in Bond Street,
with its gold and white cups, and its gleaming nickel and silver. In the
locker were sheets and blankets; on a bracket by the clock was a
book-shelf with glass doors, and attractive-looking novels inside.

"How pathetic it is!" I cried. "Poor Captai