A THEFT ON BOARD SHIP.

The time before the date set for the sailing of the Madiana passed slowly enough, but contained little that is worth recording at length. Miss May took another dinner with me, though not in the same restaurant as before, she expressing a preference for another in a different part of the city. She came to my room daily about half the time and I went to hers the rest, for our afternoon talks. Her gowns were fitted, her baggage made ready; and she sent the trunks out to have the initials "M.C." marked upon them, to consort with her new title.

As the date of sailing approached she grew visibly nervous, saying repeatedly that she would be glad when the ocean waves lay between us and Manhattan Island, in which sentiment I concurred heartily. On the day before our departure she expressed a wish to go to the wharf alone, rather than have me come for her, giving as a reason that she did not like the people at her lodgings to connect us in that move. This seemed sensible and I agreed without demur. I had long since ceased to have any suspicion of her and felt as certain that we would meet at the steamer as that the boat would sail.

The evening before the day I was to go, I passed with Tom Barton at his house. It was the second time I had been there within a week. In some way Tom fixed it so that Statia consented to dine with us. She did the best she could, I suppose, to act as usual, but made a poor show of it to eyes as watchful as mine.

I got a minute alone with her by accident and tried my best to cheer her up.

"I wish you would write me a line or two while I am gone," I said. "If you send to St. Thomas by the 18th, I ought to get it before I leave there. The mails are fearfully slow in that part of the world, but they do arrive eventually. I will let you know how I am getting on, if you wish it, besides what I send to Tom. I'm not going to let you quarrel with me any longer."

She said without much enthusiasm that she would be glad to have me write, and that perhaps she would do so herself. I did not care to press the matter, thinking it best to leave it that way.

On the morning of the 12th I went early to the steamer, inspected the cabins I had engaged and made arrangements with the head porter to reserve a good place for my steamer chairs on the after-deck. I was rather pleased with the accommodations, for I had not expected too much. Driving back up-town I secured my letter of credit and did a last bit of shopping. An hour before the time the vessel was to slip her moorings I was again on board, not wishing Miss May to arrive and find me absent.

As the passengers arrived, one after another, I looked into their faces to see if there was a familiar one, but there was none, until Mr. Wesson came. I exchanged a few words with him about the arrangement of things in the room we were to occupy jointly. When he left, my attention was attracted to a woman, just coming up the plank, whom I certainly had seen before. An elderly man walked just behind her, and as she turned to speak to him I judged they were together. It was some time before I remembered where I had seen that face, and when it flashed upon me I could not restrain a low whistle.

She was the woman who had advertised in the Herald "Personal" column that she desired the acquaintance of an "elderly gent," describing herself as "beautiful of face and form," with her "object matrimony."

Well, she seemed to have found what she sought and I hoped the "gent" was also not disappointed. I did not believe that the ceremony of marriage had been performed between them, but perhaps a temporary arrangement was equally pleasing to both. One of the stewards took their hand baggage and descended with it, showing them to their rooms.

Miss May, arrived finally. I did not recognize her at first, heavily veiled as she was, though happily without the blue article she had worn to the restaurant. I rose and escorted her to her cabin, where she seated herself on the sofa and tried to recover her breath, which I could not see she had any reason to lose. As soon as she could speak she asked which was my room; when I told her, she begged me to wait there a few minutes.

Rather distressed by her manner I could, nevertheless, do nothing but comply. After what seemed an endless time I heard her voice, speaking my name in low tones, and went to see what she wanted.

"Don't come in!" she said, opening the door slightly. She spoke hardly above a whisper and yet in a way that conveyed an imperative prohibition. "Has the boat started yet?"

"No," I answered. "I think it will go in a few moments."

"Will you inquire if my baggage has been brought on and have the smaller trunk sent down here as soon as possible?"

"You ought to come on deck and see the start," I said. "That is one of the interesting things of a voyage like this."

"Oh, no!" she said. "I am feeling faint—I don't know what is the matter—doubtless I shall be better in a few minutes. I am going to lie down and see if that makes me more comfortable. Go on deck and amuse yourself. I shall try to get a nap."

Seeing that I hesitated she looked pleadingly into my eyes.

"Please go!" she said.

I went, swallowing my disappointment. The boat had commenced to move and I witnessed the usual waving handkerchiefs, tearful eyes, loud good-bys, and that sort of thing. The elderly gentleman with his well-formed, matrimonially-inclined lady was apparently enjoying the scene, for both of them looked happy. Mr. Wesson smiled as I approached and uttered some commonplace remark, as he made room for me by his side. Each moment the distance between the Madiana and her late moorings widened; presently we were well out in the river and proceeding down the Bay.

Wesson suggested a walk on the deck and as we were both well wrapped up I saw no objection. I remarked what a wonderful thing it was, how soon our heavy clothing would be discarded. Ice and snow to-day and summer garments day after to-morrow.

"That is due to the Gulf Stream, of course," he replied.

"Yes. In two days any passenger not actually an invalid can bathe with pleasure in water pumped from the ocean."

Wesson expressed his surprise at this statement. We fell to talking of the islands we were to visit, he appearing deeply interested in all I had to say. The time was thus occupied until the first dinner bell rang, when I excused myself to go and look after my "cousin."

Miss May answered the knock by saying that she had already asked the stewardess to bring her a cup of tea and would want nothing more. She would try to get upon the deck to-morrow, if the water was sufficiently smooth, but at present she was quite unable to move. I was to be at ease about her and not allow her condition to interfere with my enjoyment. As there seemed no help for it, I went back to the deck and soon descended with the others to the dining table.

I thought it an odd fate that the "elderly gent" with his matrimonially-inclined companion should be seated at the same table with myself and Mr. Wesson, but odd things happen continually on shipboard and this voyage was to prove the rule. There were just eight of us assigned to that table, a married couple and one man travelling singly, besides those mentioned. Before we separated I took a printed list of the passengers, such as had been generally distributed, bearing on the reverse side a map of the Windward Islands, and requested those present to mark their names, that I might know them better. Wesson and I marked ours first. The "elderly gent" put his cross against two names reading Matthew Howes and Miss Nellie Howes, the married couple endorsed the names of Mr. and Mrs. H.G. Stone and the single passenger claimed the title of Robert Edgerly. The seats had been assigned by the steward with written cards on each plate, and Mr. Edgerly, who sat at my left, took up that of Miss Carney.

"We have still another messmate, who has not made her appearance," he said, to the table in general. "Miss M. Carney."

"The lady is not feeling well and will not appear to-night," I said.

"I believe she occupies the stateroom with me," said Miss Howes, to my surprise. "She is evidently not used to the sea, for she was taken ill before the steamer left the dock."

"Miss Carney is my cousin," I explained, forced into it by the inquiring eyes of Mr. Howes, who evidently connected us in some way. "She was not very well before we started, is in fact taking the journey mainly for her health. I hope she will feel able to be out to-morrow."

With the freedom that sometimes prevails in parties thrown together at a steamer table the conversation then became general, and before we rose I knew that Mr. Edgerly claimed Albany as his home and Mr. and Mrs. Stone, Montpelier, Vt.; while Mr. and Miss Howes said they resided in Binghamton. It helps very much in remembering people to get a city or town tacked on to their names, and I wrote the locations on my passenger list.

It was a dull evening, in spite of the fact that I passed it in the smoking room, where considerable cheap wit was bandied about and my fellow-passengers got acquainted with each other and with me. The push-button was kept busy until the steward in charge of that department gave signs of exhaustion. I drank very little, though I paid for several rounds, after the fashion of most Americans, who think such proceedings necessary to preserve their self-respect.

At last, when there was nothing else to do, I went to my cabin and to bed.

Before breakfast I saw the stewardess and asked her to learn how Miss Carney was and whether she would be at the table. She soon returned with the information that the lady thought it best not to leave her room, and that she wished me to procure her a list of the passengers. This I did, marking the addresses of those who sat at our table, and scrawling a bit of advice on the margin, recommending her to make her appearance on deck during the forenoon as the sea was remarkably smooth.

After leaving the table I took a novel called "His Foster Sister," which somebody told me had a reference to the Islands, and seeking my steamer chair became absorbed in its contents.

In a short time Mr. Edgerly came along and dropped into my second chair in a friendly way. He also had a book and it was some time before we engaged in conversation beyond the customary greetings.

My first impression of Edgerly was decidedly favorable. He was apparently a jolly sort of chap, ready for a joke or story and not inclined to be a bore. We got along together famously until about eleven o'clock, when Miss May came slowly up the companion way, with the stewardess to assist her. Edgerly saw her before I did and sprang to offer her his arm. As she looked into his face and detected that it was that of a stranger, she drew back, but he reassured her in low tones.

"You must permit me to help you to your chair," he said, "which I have just vacated. It's evident you cannot reach it without aid."

By this time I had arrived at her side and Miss May took my arm, leaning very heavily upon it. I was surprised to find her so weak and as soon as she was seated I asked if there was anything I could order to give her strength.

"No," she replied, faintly. "I shall be better soon. Please wrap the rug around me."

The stewardess had the rug on her arm and at my request placed it over the lady's skirts, tucking in the ends about her feet. She wore her cloak and a steamer cap, and seemed provided against the coolness of the air, which was still marked.

When the stewardess had gone, and Edgerly also, for he disappeared at once, I waited for Miss May to speak again, but she lay with closed eyes so long that I grew uneasy.

"There is a doctor among the passengers," I said. "I think when you go below, you had best let him see you. I am alarmed at your condition."

She raised herself and surveyed the decks in every direction. Then she took a less recumbent position.

"Who is the man that came to me at the top of the stairs?" she asked, in a whisper.

"His name is Edgerly and he is from Albany. I never saw him till yesterday."

"He has called at the office of my last employer, and I am afraid he recognized me. Did he say anything to intimate it?"

"No," I answered. "There is not one chance in a thousand that he remembers you. I never in my life have looked closely enough at a stenographer to know her if we met outside."

"I hope he doesn't," she said, uneasily. "I felt so sure there would be no one here who had ever seen me!"

"His chair is next yours at the table," I remarked. "If he intimates that your face is known to him you have only to convince him that he is mistaken."

"I want that seat changed," she said, earnestly. "Can't you sit between us? I—I can't explain why, but I don't like him. What business had he to offer me his arm?"

I laughed at the serious way she regarded the matter, saying he had only done as any gentleman might, but added that I would certainly put her between myself and Mr. Wesson, if she preferred.

"And who is Mr. Wesson?" she asked.

"My room-mate, that I told you about. He is a splendid fellow."

"Can you see him anywhere at this moment?" she asked, looking around.

"Yes—he is there, talking with the second officer—the man with the white cap. If he comes this way I will present you."

She said there was no need of haste, that she did not wish to meet the passengers any more than was absolutely necessary; when we went to the table would be quite time enough.

"Mr. Camwell," she added, after a pause, "you can't imagine how I feel. If I had dreamed I should experience such sensations I never would have come."

"What sensations?" I asked, rather shortly, for I thought she might consider my feelings a little.

"The sensation of being a deceiver of those about me; the shame of passing for what I am not; the dread of somehow being exposed for what I am."

I grew angrier as she proceeded.

"If you were not ill," I said, "I should be out of patience with you. What awful crime have you committed? You are travelling in a perfectly respectable way, with a respectable party of people; occupying a room with a lady; acting in a rational manner except for these vagaries, which I must ask you to suppress. To be sure the name assigned you on the passenger list is not your own, but plenty of people travel incognito, even princes and dukes, for that matter. You make a mountain out of a molehill. Your whole journey will be ruined—and mine, if you care anything about that—if you go on as you have begun."

She begged my pardon humbly, saying she would do her best to amend her conduct in the future. And, as usual, the moment she took this attitude, I repented of my hard words and assured her I had no intention of being too critical.

"The lady who occupies the room with me is very agreeable," was her next observation. "She offered to do anything she could to relieve my head last night, and this morning she bathed it with cologne for half an hour."

"She sits opposite us at the table," I said. "With her uncle."

"I am glad of that. I feel quite acquainted with her now."

Then she assayed a question of the sort that eminate from women.

"Don't you think her very handsome?"

"She's not bad looking," I admitted.

"I call her magnificent. Such a face and form do not often go together."

I wanted to reply, "So she said in her advertisement," but I merely nodded.

"There is another woman on this boat that I would not exchange for a thousand of her," I said, presently, in a low voice.

"Point her out to me," said Miss May. "I would like to know what your ideal is."

"Look in your mirror," I responded.

"Why do you think it necessary," she asked, frowning, "to pay me that kind of compliment?"

"I think it necessary to refrain from doing so, but sometimes I grow forgetful."

She saw that I was very sober again.

"If you meant what you say, it would not be so wicked," she replied, gently.

"You know very well that I mean it."

"Mr. Camwell," she said, leaning very close to me, "we are obliged to lie to outsiders, in the contract we have assumed. Let us always tell the truth to each other."

"If I told you the truth," I responded, gloomily, "you would not sit where you are. You would find strength to walk down those stairs and back to your room alone."

She grew slightly paler, though her cheeks were waxen enough before.

"Then do not tell it to me just now," she replied, with an attempt at a laugh. "I would rather remain on deck where the air is purer."

When the lunch bell rang I advised Miss May to take her repast where she was, promising to send a steward to her with a bill of fare. It pleased me to learn when I came back that she had made quite a meal and was feeling considerably better.

The succeeding two days contained nothing of high importance, but there were several little things that deserve to be chronicled.

The first time Marjorie came to the table and was introduced by me to the others as "Miss Carney," I fancied that a smile rested lightly on the features of Miss Howes, for which I could not account. Marjorie was seated between Mr. Wesson and me, and I saw with pleasure that they seemed likely to be good friends. It was desirable in the interest of our general plan that she and I should not act as if there was no one else in the world. Stone and his wife were quiet people, who rarely spoke unless first addressed. Edgerly was good-natured but not obtrusive. The most of the talk, therefore, at table, came from Mr. and Miss Howes, Wesson and myself. We got to be at last a rather jolly party.

Carrying out my plan, now that Miss May had apparently recovered from her indisposition, I left her alone a good deal, or rather with one or more of the others as her companion on deck. They aroused in her an interest in the trip, for which I was glad. Edgerly probably talked with her the least of all, and she told me he never mentioned having seen her before. Miss Howes was her most constant companion, quite naturally, when it is considered that they roomed in one cabin.

But on the third day out, just before dinner time, Miss May came to me with a distressed face that showed unusual perturbation. She was actually trembling and her eyes looked as if she had been weeping.

"A terrible thing has happened!" she said, when I followed her to a place where no one could overhear us. "I would not tell you if I could help it, but you will have to know." Then, in response to my inquiring look, she added, "Some one has entered my stateroom and robbed me!"

As far as she could learn, nothing had been taken but her turquoise ring, but the feeling that her effects were unsafe agitated her greatly. In response to questions she said she had left the ring on a little rack above the washbowl, when she washed her hands for lunch, as she had done twice before. She was absolutely certain where she put it, but had made a thorough search of her handbag, the only other place it could have been.

I told her not to get excited, but to ask the stewardess, whom I would send to her when she went down again, if she had seen it. I remarked, also, that I believed a theft on that line under such conditions was of extremely rare occurrence, and that she had best quiet her nerves until an investigation could be made.

"But it was your ring—it really belonged to you—" she stammered, "and I feel ever so much worse than if it were my own."

"That is mere casuistry," I replied, "but, if it pleases you to call all your things mine, of course, you will continue doing so. Whosever it is, we must do our best to recover it."

At dinner Miss May whispered to me that the stewardess had made a diligent search, but without effect. The meal passed rather dully. Miss May was pale and distraught. I sympathized with her, though the value of the lost article was not great. I wished I had some of the intuition of a Monsieur Lecoq that I might place the offence on the right person and relieve the strain I could not help feeling.

It must be one of the stewards, who were continually in and out of the adjacent rooms, or a fellow passenger. In either case something of the ease and comfort of the voyage was lost. A mosquito who enters your room at night is not as large as a lion nor on the whole quite as dangerous; but he can, if he chooses, banish sleep from your eyes.

That confounded ring made a lot of trouble. I began to suspect everybody on board. The stewardess promised to say nothing of the occurrence, and I at first followed the same course. The only one I did tell, and that the next day, was Mr. Wesson, and the contribution he made to the case was merely a depressed shake of the head and a long-drawn sigh.