of sound--a clicking of steel out of tune,
which would indicate a loosened key or nut. On deck, sailors set the
triangular sails on the two masts, to add their propulsion to the
momentum of the record-breaker, and the passengers dispersed themselves
as suited their several tastes. Some were seated in steamer chairs, well
wrapped--for, though it was April, the salt air was chilly--some paced
the deck, acquiring their sea legs; others listened to the orchestra in
the music-room, or read or wrote in the library, and a few took to their
berths--seasick from the slight heave of the ship on the ground-swell.

The decks were cleared, watches set at noon, and then began the
never-ending cleaning-up at which steamship sailors put in so much of
their time. Headed by a six-foot boatswain, a gang came aft on the
starboard side, with paint-buckets and brushes, and distributed
themselves along the rail.

"Davits an' stanchions, men--never mind the rail," said the boatswain.
"Ladies, better move your chairs back a little. Rowland, climb down out
o' that--you'll be overboard. Take a ventilator--no, you'll spill
paint--put your bucket away an' get some sandpaper from the yeoman. Work
inboard till you get it out o' you."

The sailor addressed--a slight-built man of about thirty, black-bearded
and bronzed to the semblance of healthy vigor, but watery-eyed and
unsteady of movement--came down from the rail and shambled forward with
his bucket. As he reached the group of ladies to whom the boatswain had
spoken, his gaze rested on one--a sunny-haired young woman with the blue
of the sea in her eyes--who had arisen at his approach. He started,
turned aside as if to avoid her, and raising his hand in an embarrassed
half-salute, passed on. Out of the boatswain's sight he leaned against
the deck-house and panted, while he held his hand to his breast.

"What is it?" he muttered, wearily; "whisky nerves, or the dying flutter
of a starved love. Five years, now--and a look from her eyes can stop
the blood in my veins--can bring back all the heart-hunger and
helplessness, that leads a man to insanity--or this." He looked at his
trembling hand, all scarred and tar-stained, passed on forward, and
returned with the sandpaper.

The young woman had been equally affected by the meeting. An expression
of mingled surprise and terror had come to her pretty, but rather weak
face; and without acknowledging his half-salute, she had caught up a
little child f