ation of de Ferrieres's secret poverty
seemed a chapter from a romance of her own weaving; for a moment it
lifted the miserable hero out of the depths of his folly and
selfishness. She forgot the weakness of the man in the strength of his
dramatic surroundings. It partly satisfied a craving she had felt; it
was not exactly the story of the ship, as she had dreamed it, but it
was an episode in her experience of it that broke its monotony. That
she should soon learn, perhaps from de Ferrieres's own lips, the true
reason of his strange seclusion, and that it involved more than
appeared to her now, she never for a moment doubted.

At the end of an hour she again knocked softly at the door, carrying
some light nourishment she had prepared for him. He was asleep, but
she was astounded to find that in the interval he had managed to dress
himself completely in his antiquated finery. It was a momentary shock
to the illusion she had been fostering, but she forgot it in the
pitiable contrast between his haggard face and his pomatumed hair and
beard, the jauntiness of his attire, and the collapse of his invalid
figure. When she had satisfied herself that his sleep was natural, she
busied herself softly in arranging the miserable apartment. With a few
feminine touches she removed the slovenliness of misery, and placed the
loose material and ostentatious evidences of his work on one side.
Finding that he still slept, and knowing the importance of this natural
medication, she placed the refreshment she had brought by his side and
noiselessly quitted the apartment. Hurrying through the gathering
darkness between decks, she once or twice thought she had heard
footsteps, and paused, but encountering no one, attributed the
impression to her over-consciousness. Yet she thought it prudent to go
to the galley first, where she lingered a few moments before returning
to the cabin. On entering she was a little startled at observing a
figure seated at her father's desk, but was relieved at finding it was
Mr. Renshaw.

He rose and put aside the book he had idly picked up. "I am afraid I
am an intentional intruder this time, Miss Nott. But I found no one
here, and I was tempted to look into this ship-shape little snuggery.
You see the temptation got the better of me."

His voice and smile were so frank and pleasant, so free from his
previous restraint, yet still respectful, so youthful yet manly, that
Rosey was affected by them even