McPhulach, thinking the girl was asleep, shook her gently by the shoulder; but, as this met with no response, he took a closer look at her.

"Losh presairve us!" he ejaculated, "the lassie's fainted."

He took from his pocket a small, flat flask, and, after drawing the cork, placed the bottle to his nose and sniffed the aroma appreciatively. Then, with a sigh, he forced some of its contents between the girl's teeth, pillowing her head on his arm as he did so. In a moment or two she opened her eyes and stared at him with a dull, uncomprehending gaze, which, however, quickly gave place to a look of bewilderment.

"Why, what's happened?" she murmured and passed a hand across her forehead as if trying to remember.

"Ye've jes' swallowed a drap o' unco' guid whusky," answered the engineer, holding up the flask to see how much he had "wasted."

"Why I—I must have fainted!"

"Aye, ye were lying on the cooch like a wax-work figger when I came in."

The girl sat up with cheeks that had suddenly become very red. Obviously she was ashamed of being found out in an essentially feminine weakness.

"I was very tired," she said apologetically, "and—and——"

"Ye jes' swooned," put in McPhulach as she hesitated. "Weel, I'm no sairprised. I'm subjec' tae it mysel', which is why I always carry a wee drappie aboot me pairson. It's likewise a muckle fine thing for stomach troubles, ye ken."

The girl nodded absently and gazed through the chart-room window at the Satellite, now steaming about a cable's length astern. Under the bos'n's directions, the towing hawsers had been cast off and hauled back aboard the gunboat. It had not occurred to her till this moment that Mr. Dykes must have been considerably exercised in his mind at seeing her on the bridge, and in command instead of Calamity. She wondered what he thought about it.

"Weel, I'll be ganging below," remarked McPhulach. "It was a michty guid thing I came up here for a breath o' fresh air an' tae see hoo ye were getting alang."

"It was, and I'm very much obliged to you for what you did," answered the girl. "But please don't say anything about it to anyone."

She stammered and blushed as though asking him to compound a felony.

"Nae, nae, I'll no breathe a word, gin ye dinna want me tae," he assured her. "Mr. Smeeth's man tells me a steam-pipe has burstit in his cabin, sae I'll jes' gang doon and hae a speer at it," saying which the engineer left the chart-room, and, descending to the deck, made his way to the second-mate's cabin.

After an amiable exchange of greetings between himself and Smith, he found the leak in the steam-pipe and plugged it with cotton waste.

"'Tis a fine bit o' wark that Miss Fletcher has done," he remarked, preparing to leave.

"You mean gettin' the Satellite off?" answered Smith. "Yes, Byles was telling me about it; said it was one of the finest feats of seamanship he'd ever seen."

"Aye, 'twas that. Mon, she'd mak' a splendid wife for a body who could manage her."

"D'you think so?" said Smith thoughtfully.

"Never a doot, lad. But the mon who'd be strang enoo' to marry the like o' her, would be strang enoo' not tae marry at a', I'm thinkin'."

There was a pause and McPhulach made to leave the cabin. As he was about to open the door, Smith called him back.

"Thinkin' it over," said he, "I ain't such a bad-lookin' cove, am I?"

"It's haird tae say," answered the engineer slowly. "Wi' a few alterations an' repairs, some women micht regaird ye as an Adonis."

"Never met the bloke. But," went on the second-mate, trying to pin the other down to a definite statement, "you wouldn't say I was hideous, would you?"

Again McPhulach regarded him critically before venturing an opinion.

"It's haird tae say," he replied at last.

"Oh hang!" ejaculated Smith in disgust. "Still," he went on, "I'm blowed if I don't have a try."

"Eh?"

"She might do worse."

"D'ye mean that ye're goin' tae ax Mees Fletcher tae marry ye?"

"Why not?"

"You're a brave mon, Smeeth."

"But why shouldn't I?" reiterated the second-mate.

"I wish ye luck," said the engineer dryly. "Hoo-ever, I ken nae reason why ye shouldna ax her."

"D'you mean you don't think she'd have me?"

"Nae, nae, women hae quare tastes, an' it isna always the best-lookin' mon that comes oot the best."

"Look here, Mac, d'you think you could put out a feeler for us?"

"Eh!"

"Jest sound her, so to speak; find out whether she likes me."

"Nae, nae," answered the engineer hastily. "I've enough troubles of me ain, an' I'm no goin' tae do anither body's coorting."

"Tell you what, Mac," went on Smith coaxingly, "you shall be best man at the wedding."

"Ye're verra generous, but it's no' the job I'm speerin' after."

"All right, you can give us a wedding present then."

"Eh! Weel, mebbe I'd be ye'r best mon gin ye were marrit."

"Half a mo, Mac," said the second-mate, as the engineer made another attempt to escape. "You don't think there's any one else in the runnin', do you?"

"It's a verra deeficult question tae answer," replied McPhulach.

"How d'you mean?"

"There is an' there isna'."

"What the devil are you driving at?"

"I mean that she's wishfu' tae marry the skeeper, an' he's no wishfu' tae be marrit."

"Crikey!" ejaculated Smith, the look of pleasurable anticipation dying out of his face. "Who told you that?"

"Ony fu' wi' a pair o' een in his held could hae telt ye that."

"I guessed she was a bit gone on him at first, but blimey, I never thought she was in love with him—why, he's old enough to be her father, I should say. Besides, he's only got one eye, and you can't call him handsome, look at him any way you like."

"I told ye women hae quare tastes."

"Well, if I ain't a better man to look at than that one-eyed old crock aft, I'll eat my bloomin' hat."

"I wouldna advise ye tae mak' rash promises," answered McPhulach, and managed to slip out of the cabin before Smith could detain him.

For a time the amorous second-mate lay still, trying to make up his mind as to the best and most effective manner of declaring his passion to Miss Fletcher. McPhulach's reference to the Captain, though it had disconcerted him at the moment, upon mature consideration seemed so preposterous that he had found no difficulty in dismissing it from his mind. The more he thought over his matrimonial scheme, the more convinced he became that, in marrying him, Miss Fletcher would be a very fortunate young woman. Besides, she would have the inestimable privilege of keeping him "straight," which would, no doubt, provide her with an interest in life. Women, he believed, liked reforming, and his future wife would have ample opportunity for indulging in this hobby. She might, in time and with patience, even effect a permanent reform.

Little guessing the good fortune in store for her, Dora Fletcher stood on the bridge with a sextant in her hands, "shooting the sun," it being then exactly at the meridian. This was the first time since they had been overtaken by the hurricane that a chance had occurred for taking observations. For the last two or three days the ship's approximate position could only be ascertained by dead reckoning, and, therefore, it was necessary to correct this at the earliest opportunity. Having concluded her observations, marked the Hawk's position on the chart, and laid out the course, the girl lay down on the settee to try and make up a little for the inadequate amount of sleep she had had during the last forty-eight hours. Later on in the day she again visited the Captain's cabin. He was sleeping when she went in, and it was evident that his condition had improved. Having given the steward some further instructions, she went to Smith's cabin to see how he was getting on.

"Well, how do you feel this evening?" she inquired on entering.

"Pretty fair, thanks," answered the invalid with a deep sigh.

"Your leg's not hurting you?"

"Oh no, my leg ain't hurting me."

"Then what's the matter? You seem rather melancholy."

"I've been thinkin'," said Smith still more gloomily, "of me future."

"Your future?"

"Yes. A man lyin' on a sick bed gets queer notions into his head, especially if he's got brains."

"But why should you worry about the future?" asked the girl, puzzled. "Your leg will soon be all right, and you'll be able to go on duty again."

"The fact is," replied Smith, suddenly becoming confidential, "I'm thinking of settlin' down."

"Yes?"

"A man like me, who's always led a rovin' life, so to speak, wants an anchor. A home and wife and kids, and so on."

"Then you're thinking of getting married?" asked the girl innocently.

"That all depends," he answered. "Although you mightn't think it, I'm rather a particular sort of cove. Of course I've got my faults——" and he waved an arm as if to signify that he also had his virtues, which were too obvious to specify.

Miss Fletcher, not feeling called upon to make any comment, remained silent, and, after a moment or two, Smith went on.

"What I want is a young woman who understands men of my sort. A woman with a bit of spirit, mind you, not bad-lookin', and able to turn her hand to 'most anything."

"H'm; I should think you'd better advertise, stating all your requirements."

"No need," replied Smith triumphantly. "I've got the very woman in my eye."

"Oh? That ought to save you a lot of trouble, not to say expense," answered the girl with a touch of irony, which, however, Smith failed to perceive.

"Yes, but the trouble is that I ain't quite certain yet whether she'll have me," he said.

"I should think the easiest way out of the difficulty would be to ask her," she replied, wholly ignorant of the direction in which the second-mate's laborious confidences were tending.

"You don't think she'd be offended if I did?"

"Good gracious, how should I know!"

"Better than you think, p'raps," replied Smith mysteriously. "Shall I tell you her name?"

"Really, Mr. Smith, I don't think it concerns me in the slightest what the lady's name is."

"But it does!" he almost shouted, raising himself on his elbow and staring at her hard.

For the first time Dora Fletcher began to see the trend of all this. She rose from the locker upon which she had been seated.

"I must leave you now," she said a little coldly. "I have to——"

"Half a mo'," broke in Smith, "you haven't heard the lady's name yet."

"I don't think I want to, thanks. It's not a matter which——"

"Isn't it! You wait. The lady's name is Dora Fletcher—how about that?"

An angry flush mounted to the girl's face, and then, being blessed with that rare possession, a sense of humour, she had much ado to prevent herself from laughing outright.

"I'm afraid I can't oblige you, Mr. Smith," she said. "Although, of course, I appreciate the honour you've done me."

"That ain't any use to me," growled the second-mate, rather taken aback at this unhesitating rejection.

"I'm sorry, but——"

"What's wrong with me, then?" he burst out. "Of course I'm not a bloomin' earl or a dook nor yet a Captain——"

"I think we had better forget all about it," answered the girl. "Please don't speak of it again."

But Smith, his hopes dashed to the ground, and his pride wounded, was not inclined to drop the subject so lightly. In fact, he completely lost his temper.

"I suppose it's because you're sweet on the skipper," he said savagely. "But I can tell you that you ain't got a ghost of a chance there; no, not if you lived to a hundred. He ain't no ornery, bloomin' skipper, nor Calamity ain't his name. Would you like to know who he is?"

The girl hesitated, torn between an almost irresistible desire to learn the secret of that strange man's identity, and disgust at the vulgar outburst of the little Cockney.

"You may as well know," he added, noticing her indecision.

"Well, tell me then," she retorted, unable any longer to resist the temptation.

Smith glanced furtively around the cabin as if to make sure no one was concealed there, and then leaned over the edge of his bunk.

"Come nearer," he said; "it ain't the sort of thing to shout out loud."

Reluctantly she moved a little closer to him, and he whispered two words in her ear.

"Well, what do you say to that?" he asked triumphantly.