Early the next morning Nina, refreshed and blooming from her night’s sleep, made her way to the deck. She frowned, however, at the bridge, the centre of her husband’s authority, and, in order to get as far as possible from it, drew a camp-stool to a secluded corner by the wheel-house.

The sea was very rough, and the Merrimac was rolling and pitching in the huge swell, until the girl, in her inexperience, feared that the steamer would forget herself during one of her side-to-side plunges, and turn quite over.

She fixed her eyes on a white sail in the distant horizon. Just as a high, over-topping wave hid it from her view, she heard a heavy footstep behind her.

Involuntarily she clasped the rail more tightly with her bare hands. Yes, it was his grave voice, asking some question of an officer who stood beside the man at the wheel.She stared steadfastly at the stormy petrels circling in graceful evolutions against the gray, dull sky, till some one came behind her, and she heard a formal and decorous, “Good morning, Miss Danvers. Will you be kind enough to take a stroll with me?”

With a silent shrug of her shoulders, she kept her attention riveted on the petrels.

“Did I not begin right? Well, then—The top of the morning to you, darling.”

He was close beside her now, and his dark face was so near her own that she instinctively shrank away.

His eyebrows contracted, and, putting his brown hand over her clenched white ones, he said, “You may take cold sitting there. Come for a walk.”

Sorely against her will she rose, and, by way of showing her displeasure, refused his proffered arm. He threw a meaning glance at the decks that seemed to be abandoning the horizontal and striving for the perpendicular, and the next instant Nina found herself dashed in a forlorn heap at the foot of a large deck compass.

Captain Fordyce sprang to her aid, and, as he picked her up, put her cap on her curls again, with the words, “Poor child, have you hurt yourself?”

Nina gave him a faint, “No.” Drawing her now unresisting arm through his own, he walked down the long decks, clean and wet from a recent scrubbing, past the bridge and the portion of the ship allotted to the second cabin passengers. When they came to the steerage quarters, Nina turned away her head to avoid a puff of hot air that swept up the narrow opening. A pale-faced woman with a baby in her arms struggled on deck. She unwittingly crossed the dividing line between her portion of the ship and that belonging to the richer, more favoured class.

Captain Fordyce’s eyes rested on her, and he nodded slightly to one of the ship’s officers who happened to be passing. It did not escape Nina. She saw the woman sent back, and pitied the weary look on her face, as she quietly retraced her steps.

“Please let me speak to her for a moment,” she said to her companion.

He released her, and hurrying back she put her hand in her pocket. There was no money there. She had left her purse in her room. She drew a little gay silk handkerchief from the breast of her coat, and, pressing it between the woman’s thin fingers, told her to twist it around the baby’s neck.

The woman’s white lips murmured a blessing, and, with tears in her eyes, Nina turned toward the prow of the ship. Had she incurred the Grand Turk’s displeasure? and she anxiously scanned his face as he guided her steps over a huge anchor lying on the deck.

It softened perceptibly. “Order must be maintained on a ship, Nina, or everything would run to confusion. We could not have all the different classes of passengers scrambling about together.”

“Of course not, but you might have spoken to that poor woman yourself.”

“That would not be ship etiquette, and, moreover, you must remember that a man who has knocked about the world as much as I have cannot be expected to have the sensibilities of a boarding-school miss.”

“That is no excuse,” she said, rebukingly. “One person is as good as another. You ought to be as kind to that woman as you are to me. Whether you feel like it or not—” Then a thought of her own shortcomings brought her to a sudden stop.

“You little prig, I am not as hard-hearted as you think. I am sorry for that woman, but what can I do? Money it would not be wise to give her, sympathy I cannot express as you did just now. Don’t you see,” eagerly, “that is just what I want you for, or, rather, one of the things I want you for. A kind-hearted, charitable little wife, what a help she would be to me!”

Nina made no reply, and, holding out a hand, he assisted her in clambering to the bow of the ship, immediately over the figured maiden who stood night and day with hands clasped on her breast, and the cold waves lapping her bare, white feet.

A sense of exultation came over the girl as they went down to the depths and then seemed to rise to the sky. The wind cut her face like a scourge, and the salt spray dashed high over her head; but with her eye embracing the boundless expanse, she felt that she could stand for ever gazing at the angry waste of waters. She had even begun to con over all the sea-poetry that she could remember, when her mind was recalled to her present surroundings by hearing the man at her side say, “Why did you not put on that pretty red cloak this morning?”

She turned rebukingly around. He was looking at her with his usual air of calm proprietorship. She could do nothing with him. He would not be formal. He would not be indifferent. And there was no one in sight. The decks were as desolate as the sea.

“There are disagreeable, exceedingly disagreeable memories connected with that cloak now,” she said, haughtily.“Specify the memories, birdie.”

She would not gratify him, and he went on, softly, “Memories of home and affection: and there are so many lonely people in the world.”

She would not answer him. Her eyes were persistently fixed on the distracted waves, torn and buffeted, and hurled from the embrace of the strange white maiden crossing their path.

He changed his tone. “You are in a temper, birdie, your eyes are glittering, and there are angry dashes of red in your cheeks, and you are trembling like a little, frightened dove, or a very successful young actress. Which is it,—dove or actress?”

She burst out upon him with a question. “What are you running about the ship for, telling everybody that I am your wife?”

He suppressed his astonishment, and for some time contemplated her in silence. Then he asked in a low voice, for some emigrant children had suddenly appeared near them, clambering over the anchor and tumbling over each other, “Nina, what do you suppose was the last thought in my mind when I turned into my berth at one this morning?”

“I don’t know—I don’t care to know,” she said, warningly.

“I thought, ‘My little girl is down below.’ When you look out at this,” and he waved his hand toward the vast surging expanse beyond, “and realise the awful loneliness of it, you can in part imagine what that thought was to me.”

Nina shuddered, and uttered a feeble, “Don’t!”

“Other men have homes, wives, children,” he went on, in the same peculiar voice; “ordinarily, I have nothing.”

“You have me,” she said, wildly, “’Steban, don’t talk so.”

He put up a hand to check her increasing tones. “You,” he murmured, “what are you? A sight, a glimpse, a breath,—an unsubstantial nothing. Are you not planning to leave me in a few days?”

“I will come back. I will surely come back.”

“You will never come back. There are other men in the world. You will fall in love with one of them and forget me.”

“I shall not forget you,” she said, passionately.

The children heard her and stared, but this time her husband did not repress her. He could not afford to lose one glimpse into the girlish soul unfolding so surely.

“Nina,” he said, quietly, “perhaps I ought to release you. It is only a question of a few years,” and he nodded toward the ocean; “it is always waiting. I shall be swallowed up some time. Then you can be happy with some other man.”

He had not frightened her. He had gone too far, and her suddenly pale face resumed its natural colour. “It is not like you to give things up,” she said, simply, “and I believe you will outlive me, but—”

“But what?” he asked, eagerly.

“But I wish you would not talk in that way,” she said, composedly.

“In what way?”

“About dying—and other men.”

“Why not?”

“It is too much of a pleasure to me,” she said, roguishly. “It suggests things that will never happen.”

He smiled happily. He, in his turn, could not be deceived. She had grown white; she had been frightened; she had swept with one terrified glance the hungry ocean, and with another loving, faithful one his expectant face. He had seen in her eyes the expression he wished to cultivate, and he laughed aloud in his content.

“Oh, you are so provoking,” she said, biting her lip. “You will not stay where I put you. You are so aggressive. You promised everything last evening; this morning you are detestable. We are just where we were before.”

“Softly, darling, those children are gaping, and we are not standing still. We are progressing.”

“Progressing—progressing; we are going back!” she said, impatiently.

“Give me your hand,” he said, abruptly, “we will have a run to restore your good-humour.”

Swiftly he rushed her down the long decks, till, panting and breathless, they leaned against a door, and she echoed his recent laughter. She could not help it. His drooping head and hand on his heart were so irresistibly comical, and in such amusing contrast to his usually dignified deportment.

“That’s good,” he remarked, approvingly; “it is worth a kingdom to see your face light up in that way. Now will it please your ladyship to continue merry and to have some breakfast?”

Nina followed him to the dining-saloon. On entering it he said: “No ladies this morning; just what I predicted. Mrs. Grayley is not, Lady Forrest is not, only a handful of men at the table. So if you open your obstinate little mouth you will have to talk to me, Red Riding Hood.”

Nina silently took her place with Captain Eversleigh opposite her, and Mr. Delessert next her. She would feel very lonely without any members of her own sex, and as for the staring eyes of that red lobster, Sir Hervey Forrest, she would not meet them. So she shyly kept her head bent over her plate until forced to lift it by the prolonged catastrophe of breakfast.

The heavy pitching of the Merrimac caused the dishes to slide gracefully from one end of the table to the other. However, by way of change, the ship occasionally abandoned the rising and falling motion, and, taking a sudden and unexpected roll, caused a number of the articles on the table to jump frantically over the guards and precipitate themselves into the passengers’ laps.

When Captain Eversleigh received fair in the chest a loaf of bread that sent his eye-glass dashing through the air and thoroughly upset his usual British equanimity, Nina gave vent to her feelings of amusement by indulging in a burst of uncontrollable girlish laughter.

The subject of her amusement glanced benevolently at her, and the other semi-seasick, preoccupied, and grumbling men at the table listened appreciatively to the sound of the fresh, clear young voice, some of them even joining in with her.

Captain Fordyce looked on, well pleased to have her admired, but suddenly exclaimed: “Take care, Nina Stephana!”

Two cruet-stands came clattering down from the rack overhead, and, spinning about “quick and more quick in giddy gyres,” shed at last ruin and desolation over Mr. Delessert and herself.

In spite of receiving half the contents of a bottle of sauce on his black head, Mr. Delessert looked inquiringly at her through the dark brown streams of the condiment pouring down each side of his Grecian nose.

“A saucy stare,” muttered Captain Fordyce, while Nina, on whom his utterance of her Christian name had made no impression, answered her neighbour’s incredulous and, to her, incomprehensible glance by a suppressed laugh, as she slipped from her seat to follow his example of retiring to perform necessary ablutions.

“You are only a trifle devastated,” said Captain Fordyce, rising too, and taking one napkin after another that his servant hastily handed him to whisk off her shoulders. “You need not go away. Your gown is not injured.”

Nina dropped into her seat again, and continued her occupation of rolling her brown eyes around the room. The skylights were closed, the canaries were mute, and as breakfast progressed the agitation of the Merrimac increased. The wind whistled outside, every timber in the ship creaked in response. Collisions between the stewards were of frequent occurrence, with the result of black forms in brass buttons stretched forlornly on the floor, reaching out helpless arms toward their late burdens, that slipped aggravatingly under the tables and chairs and into the most obscure holes and corners of the room.

Two of the swinging lamps fell with a crash, and from a distant pantry came at intervals such loud reports of smashing dishes that Captain Fordyce began to frown in a heavy, displeased way.

The absurdity of his annoyance seemed so evident to Nina that she went off into another fit of laughter, in which he partially joined, while the quaking stewards threw her glances of gratitude.

After breakfast Captain Fordyce remarked, regretfully, “I am going to be busy, but I can provide occupation for you. Will you go and console Miss Marsden?”

Nina hung back. “I don’t want to. She is probably some fashionable girl.”

“I’ll wager there isn’t a society item in her head now. Come and see her,” and, seizing her gently resisting hand, he assisted her down the passage to a room not far from her own.

Nina with concealed awe stood before the tall, handsome Boston girl. Then, seeing that she was suffering, she lost all dread of her, and proceeded to administer consolation in a characteristic way that made Captain Fordyce swing himself off to his own concerns in deep inward satisfaction.

How dear she was to him! She would never know, never until she was older and had more sense. It was a misfortune that she was so young: and yet was it a misfortune? He did not regret it in some ways, and her girlish form danced before him over the deck, up the ladder, and across the bridge. Always there, never absent from him. Her name was written on the sky, the sea-birds shrieked “Nina!” He had scarcely a thought that was not in some way mixed up with her, his heart’s darling, the life of his life; his face shone with so telltale and radiant a light that the first officer turned on his heel and walked away lest he should be suspected of spying on his superior in command. However, as he walked he muttered with amused revenge, “There’s no fool like an old fool except a middle-aged fool.”

At noon the sea was still rough, the public rooms were deserted, and the staterooms full. But when the lunch bell rang, Nina demurely appeared, bringing with her a fresh, unruffled appearance, and, probably, her usual excellent appetite.

But there was something the matter with her, for when her husband rose from his seat with a relieved air and said, “I was afraid you were going to fail us,” she sat down without noticing him.

“May I give you some beef?” he went on, politely.

“No, thanks,” she said, briefly, “I wish some tongue,” and she glanced toward her right-hand neighbour, who immediately began to cut her thin slices.

Captain Fordyce frowned, and Nina, being quite well aware of it, wrinkled her own forehead in displeasure. He was the most jealous, tyrannical man ever created, and even the small matter of refusing to be served by him was sufficient to throw him in a temper. Yet there were sins worse than jealousy. Pray Heaven he was not guilty of them. Was he—could it be? What had Mr. Delessert meant by the few mysterious words he had spoken to her an hour previously? Her pretty face grew cold and hard as she calmly partook of a meal for which she had suddenly lost her appetite.

Captain Fordyce, reading her mind with his usual skill, though apparently he did not once look her way, was angry and uneasy. Some kind of an understanding existed between that tailor’s masterpiece and his shy New England wild flower. He saw it in the few words they addressed to each other, although the man was a model of reticent propriety, and the girl was cool and almost repellent in her remarks to him.

He listened to a question from the young man. “Are you going to venture on deck this afternoon?”

Nina politely but frigidly informed him that she did not know.

“The sea is not calm yet,” he observed, smoothly, “you had better have an escort.”

“Mrs. Fordyce is going up on the bridge with me,” observed the man at the head of the table, calmly surveying them both over his coffee-cup.

Nina remained severely non-committal until lunch was over, and her husband requested her to go and put on a warm jacket, and meet him by the large lamp outside the library.

Then she made a gesture of dissent. Her impulse was to do nothing of the kind. To be disposed of in this arbitrary fashion was irritating to the last degree, especially in view of the partial and exciting revelations made to her by the young man of fascinating manners. She had better shut herself up in her room for the rest of the day. But it was so small and so dreary, and these new thoughts would be so teasing. Perhaps she could force that delinquent ’Steban into some admissions if she were to skilfully question him. And the invariable presence of one of the officers on the bridge would keep him from annoying her with any lover-like nonsense; so with a sigh she relented, donned a heavy jacket, pulled a tight-fitting cap over her brown head, and obediently made her way in the direction of the big lamp.