been pounding him pretty hard," Mr.
Grey interposed. "When a man loses in one year two of his children,
and the only grandchild he knows anything about, it's not surprising
that he should soften a bit toward the only child he has left."

They were still discussing this wonderful subject, when, half an hour
later, the tall figure of the Count emerged from the companionway. As
he bent his steps toward the other side of the deck he was visible
only to the child, who stood facing the rest of the group. She
promptly dropped the glasses upon Blythe's knee, and crying, "_Il
Signore!_" ran and took hold of his hand; whereupon the two walked
away together and were not seen for a long, long time.

Then Blythe and Mr. Grey went up on the bridge and told the Captain.
No one else was to know--not even Mr. DeWitt--until after they had
landed, but the Captain was certainly entitled to their confidence.

"For," Blythe said, "you know, Captain Seemann, it never would have
happened if you had not sent us up in the crow's nest that day."

Upon which the Captain, beaming his brightest, and letting his cigar
go out in the damp breeze for the sake of making his little speech,
declared:

"I know one thing! It would neffer haf happen at all, if I had sent
anybody else up in the crow's nest but just Miss Blythe Halliday with
her bright eyes and her kind heart!"

And Blythe was so overpowered by this tremendous compliment from the
Captain of the _Lorelei_ that she had not a word to say for herself.

That evening Mr. Grey inscribed his nonsense-verse in Blythe's book;
and not that only, for to those classic lines he added the following:

"The above was composed in collaboration with his esteemed
fellow-passenger, Miss Blythe Halliday, by Hugh Dalton, _alias_ 'Mr.
Grey.'"

It was, of course, a great distinction to own such an autograph as
that; yet somehow the kind, witty Mr. Grey had been so delightful just
as he was, that Blythe hardly felt as if the famous name added so very
much to her satisfaction in his acquaintance.

"I knew it all the time," she declared, quietly; "but it didn't make
any difference."

"That's worth hearing," said Hugh Dalton.

* * * * *

They parted from the little Cecilia at sunrise, but with promises on
both sides of a speedy meeting among the hills of Tuscany.

The old Count, with the child's hand clasped in his, paused as he
reached the gangway, at the foot of