He paused for breath, and Fraser, taking advantage of the pause, got up hurriedly and left the room, muttering something about matches. “He doesn’t like to hear of your sufferings,” said Poppy. “I suppose not,” said Flower, whose eloquence had received a chill, “but there is little more to tell. I was picked up by a Russian brig bound for Riga, and lay there some time in a state of fever. When I got better I worked my passage home in a timber boat and landed yesterday.” “What a terrible experience,” said Poppy, as Fraser entered the room again. “Shocking,” said the latter. “And now you’ve got your own ship again,” said the girl, “weren’t your crew delighted to see you?” “I’ve not seen them yet,” said Flower, hesitatingly. “I shipped on another craft this morning before the mast.” “Before the mast,” repeated the girl, in amazement. “Full-rigged ship _Golden Cloud_ bound for New Zealand,” said Flower, slowly, watching the effect of his words—“we’re to be shipmates.” Poppy Tyrell started up with a faint cry, but Flower drew her gently down again. “We’ll be married in New Zealand,” he said, softly, “and then we’ll come back and I’ll have my own again. Jack told me you were going out on her. Another man has got my craft; he lost the one he had before, and I want to give him a chance for a few months, poor chap, to redeem his character. Besides, it’ll be a change. We shall see the world. It’ll just be a splendid honeymoon.” “You didn’t tell Captain Martin?” enquired the girl, as she drew back in her chair and eyed him perplexedly. “Not likely,” said Flower, with a laugh. “I’ve shipped in the name of Robert Orth. I bought the man’s discharges this morning. He’s lying in bed, poor chap, waiting for his last now, and hoping it’ll be marked ‘v. g.’” Poppy was silent. For a moment her eyes, dark and inscrutable, met Fraser’s; then she looked away, and in a low voice addressed Flower. “I suppose you know best what is to be done,” she said, quietly. “You leave it to me,” said Flower, in satisfied tones. “I’m at the wheel.” There was a long silence. Poppy got up and crossed to the window, and, resting her cheek on her hand, sat watching the restless life of the street. The room darkened slowly with the approach of evening. Flower rose and took the seat opposite, and Fraser, who had been feeling in the way for some time, said that he must go. “You sail to-morrow evening, Jack?” said Flower, with a careless half-turn towards him. “About six,” was the reply. “We sail Saturday evening at seven,” said Flower, and took the girl’s hand in his own. “It will be odd to see you on board, Poppy, and not to be able to speak to you; but we shall be able to look at each other, sha’n’t we?” “Captain Martin is a strict disciplinarian,” said Poppy. “Well he can’t prevent us looking at each other,” said Flower, “and he can’t prevent us marrying when we get to the other end. Good-night, Jack. Next time you see us we’ll be an old married couple.”