rom the deck behind her, and turning into the saloon door,
hurried to the library, where she sank into a chair beside a
military-looking gentleman, who glanced up from a book and remarked:
"Seen the sea-serpent, Myra, or the Flying Dutchman? What's up?"

"Oh, George--no," she answered in agitated tones. "John Rowland is
here--Lieutenant Rowland. I've just seen him--he is so changed--he tried
to speak to me."

"Who--that troublesome flame of yours? I never met him, you know, and
you haven't told me much about him. What is he--first cabin?"

"No, he seems to be a common sailor; he is working, and is dressed in
old clothes--all dirty. And such a dissipated face, too. He seems to
have fallen--so low. And it is all since--"

"Since you soured on him? Well, it is no fault of yours, dear. If a man
has it in him he'll go to the dogs anyhow. How is his sense of injury?
Has he a grievance or a grudge? You're badly upset. What did he say?"

"I don't know--he said nothing--I've always been afraid of him. I've met
him three times since then, and he puts such a frightful look in his
eyes--and he was so violent, and headstrong, and so terribly
angry,--that time. He accused me of leading him on, and playing with
him; and he said something about an immutable law of chance, and a
governing balance of events--that I couldn't understand, only where he
said that for all the suffering we inflict on others, we receive an
equal amount ourselves. Then he went away--in such a passion. I've
imagined ever since that he would take some revenge--he might steal our
Myra--our baby." She strained the smiling child to her breast and went
on. "I liked him at first, until I found out that he was an
atheist--why, George, he actually denied the existence of God--and to
me, a professing Christian."

"He had a wonderful nerve," said the husband, with a smile; "didn't know
you very well, I should say."

"He never seemed the same to me after that," she resumed; "I felt as
though in the presence of something unclean. Yet I thought how glorious
it would be if I could save him to God, and tried to convince him of the
loving care of Jesus; but he only ridiculed all I hold sacred, and said,
that much as he valued my good opinion, he would not be a hypocrite to
gain it, and that he would be honest with himself and others, and
express his honest unbelief--the idea; as though one could be honest
without God's help--and then, one day, I smelled liquor on his
bre