How dangerous is it that this man goes loose...

He's loved of the distracted multitude,

Who like not in their judgment but their eyes:

And where 'tis so the offender's scourge is weigh'd,

But never the offence.

Look here upon this picture, and on this.

Thus has he—and many more of the same breed that I know the drossy age dotes on—only got the tune of the time... a kind of yesty collection which carries them through and through the most fond and winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trial, the bubbles are out.—Hamlet.

THE uneasy bosom of the Bay of Biscay was throbbing with its customary emotion beneath the good vessel, when Daireen awoke the next morning to the sound of creaking timbers and rioting glasses. Above her on the deck the tramp of a healthy passenger, who wore a pedometer and walked three miles every morning before breakfast, was heard, now dilating and now decreasing, as he passed over the cabins. He had almost completed his second mile, and was putting on a spurt in order to keep himself up to time; his spurt at the end of the first mile had effectually awakened all the passengers beneath, who had yet remained undisturbed through the earlier part of his tramp.

Mrs. Crawford, looking bright and fresh and good-natured, entered Daireen's cabin before the girl was ready to leave it. She certainly seemed determined that the confidence Mr. Gerald had reposed in her with regard to the care of his granddaughter should not prove to have been misplaced.

“I am not going in, my dear,” she said as she entered the cabin. “I only stepped round to see that you were all right this morning. I knew you would be so, though Robinson the steward tells me that even the little sea there is on in the bay has been quite sufficient to make about a dozen vacancies at the breakfast-table. People are such fools when they come aboard a ship—eating boiled paste and all sorts of things, and so the sea is grossly misrepresented. Did that dreadfully healthy Mr. Thompson awake you with his tramping on deck? Of course he did; he's a dreadful man. If he goes on like this we'll have to petition the captain to lay down bark on the deck. Now I'll leave you. Come aloft when you are ready; and, by the way, you must take care what dress you put on—very great care.”

“Why, I thought that aboard ship one might wear anything,” said the girl.

“Never was there a greater mistake, my child. People say the same about going to the seaside: anything will do; but you know how one requires to be doubly particular there; and it's just the same in our little world aboard ship.”

“You quite frighten me, Mrs. Crawford,” said Daireen. “What advice can you give me on the subject?”

Mrs. Crawford was thoughtful. “If you had only had time to prepare for the voyage, and I had been beside you, everything might have been different. You must not wear anything pronounced—any distinct colour: you must find out something undecided—you understand?”

Daireen looked puzzled. “I'm sorry to say I don't.”

“Oh, you have surely something of pale sage—no, that is a bad tone for the first days aboard—too like the complexions of most of the passengers—but, chocolate-gray? ah, that should do: have you anything in that to do for a morning dress?”

Daireen was so extremely fortunate as to be possessed of a garment of the required tone, and her kind friend left her arraying herself in its folds.

On going aloft Daireen found the deck occupied by a select few of the passengers. The healthy gentleman was just increasing his pace for the final hundred yards of his morning's walk, and Doctor Campion had got very near the end of his second cheroot, while he sat talking to a fair-haired and bronze-visaged man with clear gray eyes that had such a way of looking at things as caused people to fancy he was making a mental calculation of the cubic measure of everything; and it was probably the recollection of their peculiarity that made people fancy, when these eyes looked into a human face, that the mind of the man was going through a similar calculation with reference to the human object: one could not avoid feeling that he had a number of formulas for calculating the intellectual value of people, and that when he looked at a person he was thinking which formula should be employed for arriving at a conclusion regarding that person's mental capacity.

Mrs. Crawford was chatting with the doctor and his companion, but on Daireen's appearing, she went over to her.

“Perfect, my child,” she said in a whisper—“the tone of the dress, I mean; it will work wonders.”

While Daireen was reflecting upon the possibility of a suspension of the laws of nature being the result of the appearance of the chocolate-toned dress, she was led towards the doctor, who immediately went through a fiction of rising from his seat as she approached; and one would really have fancied that he intended getting upon his feet, and was only restrained at the last moment by a remonstrance of the girl's. Daireen acknowledged his courtesy, though it was only imaginary, and she was conscious that his companion had really risen.

“You haven't made the acquaintance of Miss Gerald, Mr. Harwood?” said Mrs. Crawford.

“I have not had the honour,” said the man.

“Let me present you, Daireen. Mr. Harwood—Miss Gerald. Now take great care what you say to this gentleman, Daireen; he is a dangerous man—the most dangerous that any one could meet. He is a detective, dear, and the worst of all—a literary detective; the 'special' of the Domnant Trumpeter.”

Daireen had looked into the man's face while she was being presented to him, and she knew it was the face of a man who had seen the people of more than one nation.

“This is not your first voyage, Miss Gerald, or you would not be on deck so early?” he said.

“It certainly is not,” she replied. “I was born in India, so that my first voyage was to England; then I have crossed the Irish Channel frequently, going to school and returning for the holidays; and I have also had some long voyages on Lough Suangorm,” she added with a little smile, for she did not think that her companion would be likely to have heard of the existence of the Irish fjord.

“Suangorm? then you have had some of the most picturesque voyages one can make in the course of a day in this world,” he said. “Lough Suangorm is the most wonderful fjord in the world, let me tell you.”

“Then you know it,” she cried with a good deal of surprise. “You must know the dear old lough or you would not talk so.” She did not seem to think that his assertion should imply that he had seen a good many other fjords also.

“I think I may say I know it. Yes, from those fine headlands that the Atlantic beats against, to where the purple slope of that great hill meets the little road.”

“You know the hill—old Slieve Docas? How strange! I live just at the foot.”

“I have a sketch of a mansion, taken just there,” he said, laughing. “It is of a dark brown exterior.”

“Exactly.”

“It looks towards the sea.”

“It does indeed.”

“It is exceedingly picturesque.”

“Picturesque?”

“Well, yes; the house I allude to is very much so. If I recollect aright, the one window of the wall was not glazed, and the smoke certainly found its way out through a hole in the roof.”

“Oh, that is too bad,” said Daireen. “I had no idea that the peculiarities of my country people would be known so far away. Please don't say anything about that sketch to the passengers aboard.”

“I shall never be tempted to allude, even by the 'pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,' to the—the—peculiarities of your country people, Miss Gerald,” he answered. “It is a lovely country, and contains the most hospitable people in the world; but their talent does not develop itself architecturally. Ah! there is the second bell. I hope you have an appetite.”

“Have you been guarded enough in your conversation, Daireen?” said Mrs. Crawford, coming up with the doctor, whose rising at the summons of the breakfast-bell was by no means a fiction.

“The secrets of the Home Rule Confederation are safe in the keeping of Miss Gerald,” said Mr. Harwood, with a smile which any one could see was simply the result of his satisfaction at having produced a well-turned sentence.

The breakfast-table was very thinly attended, more so even than Robinson the steward had anticipated when on the previous evening he had laid down that second plate of buttered toast before the novices.

Of the young ladies only three appeared at the table, and their complexions were of the softest amber shade that was ever worked in satin in the upholstery of mock-mediÆval furniture. Major Crawford had just come out of the steward's pantry, and he greeted Daireen with all courtesy, as indeed he did the other young ladies at the table, for the major was gallant and gay aboard ship.

After every one had been seated for about ten minutes, the curtain that screened off one of the cabin entrances from the saloon was moved aside, and the figure of the young man to whom Mrs. Crawford had alluded as Mr. Glaston appeared. He came slowly forward, nodding to the captain and saying good-morning to Mrs. Crawford, while he elevated his eyebrows in recognition of Mr. Harwood, taking his seat at the table.

“You can't have an appetite coming directly out of your bunk,” said the doctor.

“Indeed?” said Mr. Glaston, without the least expression.

“Quite impossible,” said the doctor. “You should have been up an hour ago at least. Here is Mr. Thompson, who has walked more than three miles in the open air.”

“Ah,” said the other, never moving his eyes to see the modest smile that spread itself over the features of the exemplary Mr. Thompson. “Ah, I heard some one who seemed to be going in for that irrepressible thousand miles in a thousand hours. Yes, bring me a pear and a grape.” The last sentence he addressed to the waiter, who, having been drilled by the steward on the subject of Mr. Glaston's tastes, did not show any astonishment at being asked for fruit instead of fish, but hastened off to procure the grape and the pear.

While Mr. Glaston was waiting he glanced across the table, and gave a visible start as his eyes rested upon one of the young ladies—a pleasant-looking girl wearing a pink dress and having a blue ribbon in her hair. Mr. Glaston gave a little shudder, and then turned away.

“That face—ah, where have I beheld it?” muttered Mr. Harwood to the doctor.

“Dam puppy!” said the doctor.

Then the plate and fruit were laid before Mr. Glaston, who said quickly, “Take them away.” The bewildered waiter looked towards his chief and obeyed, so that Mr. Glaston remained with an empty plate. Robinson became uneasy.

“Can I get you anything, sir?—we have three peaches aboard and a pine-apple,” he murmured.

“Can't touch anything now, Robinson,” Mr. Glaston answered.

“The doctor is right,” said Mrs. Crawford. “You have no appetite, Mr. Glaston.”

“No,” he replied; “not now,” and he gave the least glance towards the girl in pink, who began to feel that all her school dreams of going forth into the world of men to conquer and overcome were being realised beyond her wildest anticipations.

Then there was a pause at the table, which the good major broke by suddenly inquiring something of the captain. Mr. Glaston, however, sat silent, and somewhat sad apparently, until the breakfast was over.

Daireen went into her cabin for a book, and remained arranging some volumes on the little shelf for a few minutes. Mr. Glaston was on deck when she ascended, and he was engaged in a very serious conversation with Mrs. Crawford.

“Something must be done. Surely she has a guardian aboard who is not so utterly lost to everything of truth and right as to allow that to go on unchecked.”

These words Daireen could make out as she passed the young man and the major's wife, and the girl began to fear that something terrible was about to happen. But Mr. Harwood, who was standing above the major's chair, hastened forward as she appeared.

“Why, Major Crawford has been telling me that your father is Colonel Gerald,” he said. “Mrs. Crawford never mentioned that fact, thinking that I should be able to guess it for myself.”

“Did you know papa?” Daireen asked.

“I met him several times when I was out about the Baroda affair,” said the “special.”

“And as you are his daughter, I suppose it will interest you to know that he has been selected as the first governor of the Castaways.”

Daireen looked puzzled. “The Castaways?” she said.

“Yes, Miss Gerald; the lovely Castaway Islands which, you know, have just been annexed by England. Colonel Gerald has been chosen by the Colonial Secretary as the first governor.”

“But I heard nothing of this,” said Daireen, a little astonished to receive such information in the Bay of Biscay.

“How could you hear anything of it? No one outside the Cabinet has the least idea of it.”

“And you——” said the girl doubtfully.

“Ah, my dear Miss Gerald, the resources of information possessed by the Dominant Trumpeter are as unlimited as they are trustworthy. You may depend upon what I tell you. It is not generally known that I am now bound for the Castaway group, to make the British public aware of the extent of the treasure they have acquired in these sunny isles. But I understood that Colonel Gerald was on his way from Madras?”

Daireen explained how her father came to be at the Cape, and Mr. Harwood gave her a few cheering words regarding his sickness. She was greatly disappointed when their conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Crawford.

“The poor fellow!” she said—“Mr. Glaston, I mean. I have induced him to go down and eat some grapes and a pear.”

“Why couldn't he take them at breakfast and not betray his idiocy?” said Mr. Harwood.

“Mr. Harwood, you have no sympathy for sufferers from sensitiveness,” replied the lady. “Poor Mr. Glaston! he had an excellent appetite, but he found it impossible to touch anything the instant he saw that fearful pink dress with the blue ribbon hanging over it.”

“Poor fellow!” said Mr. Harwood.

“Dam puppy!” said the doctor.

“Campion!” cried Mrs. Crawford severely.

“A thousand pardons! my dear Miss Gerald,” said the transgressor. “But what can a man say when he hears of such puppyism? This is my third voyage with that young man, and he has been developing into the full-grown puppy with the greatest rapidity.”

“You have no fine feeling, Campion,” said Mrs. Crawford. “You have got no sympathy for those who are artistically sensitive. But hush! here is the offending person herself, and with such a hat! Now admit that to look at her sends a cold shudder through you.”

“I think her a devilish pretty little thing, by gad,” said the doctor.

The young lady with the pink dress and the blue ribbon appeared, wearing the additional horror of a hat lined with yellow and encircled with mighty flowers.

“Something must be done to suppress her,” said Mrs. Crawford decisively. “Surely such people must have a better side to their natures that one may appeal to.”

“I doubt it, Mrs. Crawford,” said Mr. Harwood, with only the least tinge of sarcasm in his voice. “I admit that one might not have been in utter despair though the dress was rather aggressive, but I cannot see anything but depravity in that hat with those floral splendours.”

“But what is to be done?” said the lady. “Mr. Glaston would, no doubt, advocate making a Jonah of that young person for the sake of saving the rest of the ship's company. But, however just that might be, I do not suppose it would be considered strictly legal.”

“Many acts of justice are done that are not legal,” replied Harwood gravely. “From a legal standpoint, Cain was no murderer—his accuser being witness and also judge. He would leave the court without a stain on his character nowadays. Meantime, major, suppose we have a smoke on the bridge.”

“He fancies he has said something clever,” remarked Mrs. Crawford when he had walked away; and it must be confessed that Mr. Harwood had a suspicion to that effect.