orth on
the end of the bridge, and the rather gloomy train of thought which the
officer had interrupted.

"How long," he mused, "would his ambition and love of profession last
him after he had met, and won, and lost, the only woman on earth to him?
Why is it--that failure to hold the affections of one among the
millions of women who live, and love, can outweigh every blessing in
life, and turn a man's nature into a hell, to consume him? Who did she
marry? Some one, probably a stranger long after my banishment, who came
to her possessed of a few qualities of mind or physique that pleased
her,--who did not need to love her--his chances were better without
that--and he steps coolly and easily into my heaven. And they tell us,
that 'God doeth all things well,' and that there is a heaven where all
our unsatisfied wants are attended to--provided we have the necessary
faith in it. That means, if it means anything, that after a lifetime of
unrecognized allegiance, during which I win nothing but her fear and
contempt, I may be rewarded by the love and companionship of her soul.
Do I love her soul? Has her soul beauty of face and the figure and
carriage of a Venus? Has her soul deep, blue eyes and a sweet, musical
voice? Has it wit, and grace, and charm? Has it a wealth of pity for
suffering? These are the things I loved. I do not love her soul, if she
has one. I do not want it. I want her--I need her." He stopped in his
walk and leaned against the bridge railing, with eyes fixed on the fog
ahead. He was speaking his thoughts aloud now, and the first officer
drew within hearing, listened a moment, and went back. "Working on him,"
he whispered to the third officer. Then he pushed the button which
called the captain, blew a short blast of the steam whistle as a call to
the boatswain, and resumed his watch on the drugged lookout, while the
third officer conned the ship.

The steam call to the boatswain is so common a sound on a steamship as
to generally pass unnoticed. This call affected another besides the
boatswain. A little night-gowned figure arose from an under berth in a
saloon stateroom, and, with wide-open, staring eyes, groped its way to
the deck, unobserved by the watchman. The white, bare little feet felt
no cold as they pattered the planks of the deserted promenade, and the
little figure had reached the steerage entrance by the time the captain
and boatswain had reached the bridge.

"And they talk," went on Rowland, a