Whilst I sat fondling my glass, leaning back in my chair with my eyes fixed upon the delicate, graceful paintings on the cabin ceiling, and my mind revolving, but no longer blackly and weepingly, the grim incidents which had crowded the morning, I heard my name pronounced close at my ear, and, whipping round, found Miss Laura at my elbow. ‘I have been most anxious to see you,’ she exclaimed. ‘What is the news?’ ‘Have you not heard?’ I inquired. ‘I have heard nothing but two pistol shots. I have seen nobody of whom I could ask a question.’ ‘Wilfrid has shot Colonel Hope-Kennedy through the heart,’ said I, ‘as he declared he would, and the body lies yonder;’ and I pointed to the recess that Muffin had formerly occupied. ‘Colonel Hope-Kennedy killed!’ she exclaimed, in a low, breathless, terrified voice; and she sank into a chair beside me, and leant her face on her hand speechless, and her eyes fixed upon the table. ‘Better that he should have been shot than Wilfrid,’ said I. ‘But he is dead; of him, then, let us speak nothing since we cannot speak good. I have just succeeded in fighting myself out of a hideous mood of melancholy with the help of yonder bottle. Now you must let me prescribe for you. You have eaten nothing since dinner yesterday. I therefore advise a glass of champagne and a slice of the breast of cold fowl;’ and that she might not say no, I put on an air of bustle, called to the steward to immediately open a pint bottle of champagne, helped her to a little piece of the fowl, and, finding her still reluctant, gently insinuated a knife and fork into her hands. ‘We are homeward bound,’ said I; ‘see! the sun has slipped t’other side of the yacht. Our bowsprit points directly for dear old Southampton Water. So,’ said I, filling a glass of champagne and handing it to her, ‘you must absolutely drink to our prosperous voyage, not only to the ship that goes, but to the wind that blows, whilst,’ said I, helping myself to another small dose of Burgundy, ‘I’ll drink the lass that loves a sailor.’ She could not forbear a slight smile, drank, and then ate a little, and presently I saw how much good it did her by the manner in which she plucked up her heart. I asked her where Lady Monson was. ‘In my cabin,’ she answered; ‘she will not speak to me; she asks my maid for what she requires; she will not even look at me.’ ‘It is all too fresh yet,’ said I. ‘A little patience, Miss Jennings. The woman in her will break through anon; there will be tears, kisses, contrition. Who knows?’