ed on the cabin
divan. I was a sailor and could not feel that any good fortune would
come to us from such a death ship. The memory brought to me a
depression hard to throw off; yet, for her sake I pretended a
cheerfulness I was far from feeling, and our conversation drifted idly
into many channels.

This was the first opportunity we had enjoyed to actually talk with
each other alone, and gradually our thoughts veered from the
happenings of the strange voyage, and our present predicament, to
those personal matters in which we were peculiarly interested. I know
not how it occurred, for what had passed between us in the open boat
seemed more like a dream than a reality, yet my hand found her own
beneath the blanket, and I dared to whisper the words my lips could no
longer restrain.

"Dorothy," I said humbly, "you were frightened last night. I cannot
hold you to what you said to me then."

"You mean you do not wish to? But I was not frightened."

"They were honest words? You have not regretted them since?"

"No, Geoffry. Perhaps they were not maidenly, yet were they honest;
why should I not have told you the truth? I have long known my own
heart, and yours, as well."

"And you still repeat what you said then?"

"Perhaps I do not remember all I said."

"I can never forget--you said, 'I love you.'"

She drew a quick breath, and for an instant remained silent; then her
courage conquered.

"Yes, I can repeat that--I love you."

"Those are dear, dear words; but I ought not to listen to them, or
believe. I am not free to ask a pledge of you, or to beg you to trust
me in marriage."

"Is not that rather for me to decide?" she questioned archly. "I give
you my faith, Geoffry, and surely no girl ever had more reason to know
the heart of a man than I. You have risked all to serve me, and I
would be ungrateful indeed were I insensible of the sacrifice. Yet do
not think that is all--gratitude for what you have done. I did not
need that to teach me your nature. I make a confession now. You
remember the night I met you on deck, when you were a prisoner, and
told you that you had become the property of Roger Fairfax?"

"I could never forget."

"Nor I. I loved you then, although I scarcely acknowledged the truth
even to myself. I went back to my berth to lie awake, and think until
morning. A new world had come to me, and when the dawn broke, I knew
what it all meant--that my heart was yours. I cared nothing because
you w