‘I don’t know about that, but if you’ll turn your attention to my lady--I mean to my friend here--and help her instead of me, I should be ever so much more obliged to you. I daresay I shall find plenty of young men in the steerage--they ain’t a scarce commodity--but Mrs--I mean Miss Douglas, don’t know a soul here, and you can be all the use in the world to her.’ ‘Hush! hush! Maggie,’ pleaded Iris. ‘You just keep quiet, my dear, and let me say what I choose.’ ‘I shall be delighted to be of use to both of you,’ replied Farrell, who had not failed to observe that Iris was a very pretty woman; ‘and as an earnest of my goodwill, I will go and bring down these boxes at once.’ And off he ran. ‘Now, ain’t that a good sort?’ cried Maggie admiringly. ‘He seems so,’ replied Iris. ‘But, Maggie, I think I shall go to my berth at once. I shall never feel safe until we are well out to sea.’ ‘All right, my dear. But here comes that chap with the boxes. Let me just go and see where he puts mine first, and then I’ll come back, if they’ll let me, and help you get to bed. Will you promise me to sit here quiet till I come?’ ‘Yes,’ said Iris mechanically, as she took up a newspaper, and commenced to read. Many eyes were turned towards her as she sat there, with her pale, beautiful face half-shaded by the brim of her hat and the thick veil, which was only partially withdrawn; and many conjectures were raised as to why so young a creature was going out to the new country alone. Perhaps it was the little drama he had seen enacted on her arrival which induced Vernon Blythe to pay a visit to the second cabin that evening. Perhaps it was the fate which stalks us all, and pulls the strings of our lives as if we were so many puppets, bound to caper at its will. Any way, when his watch was relieved, he bent his steps there, instead of going down to the saloon. As he entered, Iris Harland was sitting where Maggie had left her, at the end of the long table furthest removed from the door; and Vernon Blythe stood on the threshold, and regarded her for some minutes before she was even aware of his presence. He had not caught a single glimpse of the face of the lady who had arrived so late, he had scarcely seen the outlines of her figure, and yet he felt sure that _that_ was she sitting under the swinging lamp, with her graceful form bent forward, her eyes cast down upon the paper, and one slim white hand resting on the table. How strangely her appearance startled and affected him. He had never, to his knowledge, seen her before, and yet his heart almost stood still to look at her. Who was she? Where were her friends? What was she doing here alone, in an atmosphere so evidently uncongenial to her? Jack Blythe had not been so many years at sea without gaining a thorough knowledge of the different classes of passengers a vessel is accustomed to carry. And _this_ passenger, he could tell from merely looking at her, was out of her class and her own sphere altogether.