“No, it’s a tale,” replied Fraser, not without a secret admiration of his unsuspected powers of breaking bad news; “a tale with a bad ending.” The girl misunderstood him. “If you mean that Captain Flower doesn’t want to come here, and sent you to say so—” she began, with dignity. “He can’t come,” interrupted the mate, hastily. “Did he send you to tell me?” she asked. Fraser shook his head mournfully. “He can’t come,” he said, in a low voice; “he had a bad foot—night before last he was standing on the ship’s side—when he lost his hold—” He broke off and eyed the girl nervously, “and fell overboard,” he concluded. Poppy Tyrell gave a faint cry and, springing to her feet, stood with her hand on the back of her chair regarding him. “Poor fellow,” she said, softly—“poor fellow.” She sat down again by the open window and nervously plucked at the leaves of a geranium. Her face was white and her dark eyes pitiful and tender. Fraser, watching her, cursed his resourceful skipper and hated himself. “It’s a terrible thing for his friends,” said Poppy, at length. “And for you,” said Fraser, respectfully. “I am very grieved,” said Poppy, quietly; “very shocked and very grieved.” “I have got strong hopes that he may have got picked up,” said Fraser, cheerfully; “very strong hopes. I threw him a life-belt, and though we got the boat out and pulled about, we couldn’t find either of them. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if he has been picked up by some vessel outward bound. Stranger things have happened.” The girl shook her head. “You didn’t go overboard after him?” she asked, quietly. “I did not,” said the mate, who was somewhat tired of this tactless question; “I had to stand by the ship, and besides, he was a much better swimmer than I am—I did the best I could.” Miss Tyrell bowed her head in answer. “Yes,” she said, softly. “If there’s anything I can do,” said Fraser, awkwardly, “or be of use to you in any way, I hope you’ll let me know—Flower told me you were all alone, and—” He broke off suddenly as he saw the girl’s lips quiver. “I was very fond of my father,” she said, in extenuation of this weakness. “I suppose you’ve got some relatives?” said Fraser. The girl shook her head. “No cousins?” said Fraser, staring. He had twenty-three himself. “I have some in New Zealand,” said Poppy, considering. “If I could, I think I should go out there.” “And give up your business here?” enquired the mate, anxiously. “It gave me up,” said Poppy, with a little tremulous laugh. “I had a week’s pay instead of notice the day before yesterday. If you know anybody who wants a clerk who spells ’impatient’ with a ’y’ and is off-hand when they are told of it, you might let me know.” The mate stared at her blankly. This was a far more serious case than Captain Flower’s. “What are you going to do?” he asked. “Try for another berth,” was the reply. “But if you don’t get it?” “I shall get it sooner or later,” said the girl.