veered in his own direction, which made it appear impertinent to pursue a curiosity which he so boldly evaded. In the second cabin, Will Farrell had made himself a general favourite, and more than one lone she creature, unattached, tried hard to induce him to take her in tow. But though he was sociable with all, he was only intimate with one, and that one was Maggie Greet. He had formed quite an attachment for this girl. Had he possessed the means he would have transferred her from the steerage to the second cabin, but he promised himself to make up for that, to her, by-and-by. Meanwhile he spent every spare moment by her side, and on deck they were always together. But Maggie would not be persuaded to go on deck until nightfall, and then she wrapped herself up in what appeared an absurd fashion, considering the warmth of the weather. ‘What are you afraid of?’ asked Farrell of her one evening. ‘You couldn’t catch cold if you tried, in these latitudes.’ ‘Toothache,’ replied Maggie mendaciously, ‘I have it dreadful sometimes at night.’ ‘That’s because you stop in the cabin too much. You stew down there all day, and then when you come on deck, you feel the difference. You should stop in the open air, like the others do, from morning till night.’ ‘And what would my poor lady do all by herself, whilst I was taking my pleasure on deck?’ ‘I know you’re very good to Miss Douglas, Maggie. It’s _that_ that first made me feel I should like to have you for a friend. You’re a staunch one, I’m sure. But why not persuade her to come, too? She’ll kill herself if she mopes in her berth all the voyage. What’s the matter with her? Is she sick?’ ‘No! she isn’t sick.’ ‘Why doesn’t she come on deck then?’ ‘That’s _her_ business and not yours, Mr Farrell.’ ‘True; but I should like to know a little more about you both. Sometimes you call Miss Douglas your “_lady_,” and sometimes your “_friend_.” Now, I can guess that you have lived together in England as mistress and servant. But why don’t you say so?’ ‘Have you got any more questions to ask me, Mr Farrell?’ said Maggie coolly. They were sitting on the afterdeck together, and it was nearly dark, except for an oil lamp in the forecastle, that threw an occasional light on the girl’s face. Maggie was looking very pretty and pleasant that evening. Her dark eyes were bright and merry; her curly hair was blowing about in the sea breeze; over her head she had twisted a shawl of scarlet and green. Her pertness became her roguish face, and Farrell gazed at her admiringly as he answered,-- ‘You’ll provoke me to ask you something that will make you angry, if you look at me in that fashion, Maggie.’ ‘And what may that be?’ ‘A kiss?’ ‘Well, asking and having is two different things, so I advise you to spare your breath to cool your porridge.’