erth.

It brought a laugh from Joyce. He had discovered the good lady's
extreme perturbation in regard to Lakalatcha, and had promptly
declared for spending a day there with his bride. It was an
exceptional opportunity to witness the volcano in its active mood.
Each time that Joyce had essayed this teasing pleasantry, which
never failed to draw Mrs. Stanleigh's protests, I observed that his
wife remained silent. I assumed that she had decided to keep her own
counsel in regard to the trip she had made there.

"I'm trusting you not to take Eleanor near that dreadful island,
Mr. Barnaby," was the admonition shouted across the widening gap of
water.

It was a quite unnecessary appeal, for Joyce, who was presently
sitting with his wife in a sheltered quarter of the deck, had not
the slightest interest in the smoking cone which was as yet a mere
smudge upon the horizon. Eleanor, with one hand in Joyce's possession,
at times watched it with a seemingly vast apathy until some ardent
word from Joyce would draw her eyes back to his and she would lift
to him a smile that was like a caress. The look of weariness and
balked purpose that had once marked her expression had vanished. In
the week since she had married Joyce she seemed to have grown
younger and to be again standing on the very threshold of life with
girlish eagerness. She hung on Joyce's every word, communing with
him hour after hour, utterly content, indifferent to all the world
about her.

In the cabin that evening at dinner, when the two of them deigned to
take polite cognizance of my existence, I announced to Joyce that I
proposed to hug the island pretty close during the night. It would
save considerable time.

"Just as you like, Captain," Joyce replied, indifferently.

"We may get a shower of ashes by doing so, if the wind should shift."
I looked across the table at Mrs. Joyce.

"But we shall reach Malduna that much sooner?" she queried.

I nodded. "However, if you feel any uneasiness, I'll give the island
a wide berth." I didn't like the idea of dragging her--the bride of
a week--past that place with its unspeakable memories, if it should
really distress her.

Her eyes thanked me silently across the table. "It's very kind of you,
but"--she chose her words with significant deliberation--"I haven't
a fear in the world, Mr. Barnaby."

Evening had fallen when we came up on deck. Joyce bethought himself
of some cigars in his stateroom and went back. For t