It was the fifth day out at sea; Britomarte had a stiff attack of _mal-de-mer_, but had not been so sick as to be unable to enjoy the witticisms of the Irish stewardess, Judith Riordon, or the pleasantries of the good-natured Captain McKenzie; but the spell of dirty weather that had ensued after crossing the bar was now over, and Britomarte climbed the stairs, made her way carefully across the deck and seated herself on one of the coils of rope stowed against the bulwarks. Her eyes wandered over the scene. What a grand, sublime and glorious round it was! This boundless sky! One vast circle of air above; one vast circle of water below. Not a bird to be seen in all the air; not a sail to be seen on all the sea. Their own lonely ship was the center of this circle and the only one within it. The solitude of this scene was even more stupendous than its vastness. Gazing, Britomarte sank into thought, then into dream, then almost into trance. What past life was the beautiful man-hater living over again in that self-forgotten reverie? Whatever it was, it wrapt her whole soul in an abstraction so profound, that she did not hear the approach of a footstep, though that step rang clearly and firmly upon the deck; nor did she see the form that stood beside her, though that form sheltered her from the flying spray that had begun to wet her clothing; nor did she become conscious of the intruder’s presence until he stooped to her ear and breathed her name: “Miss Conyers!” She started and looked up. Justin Rosenthal stood before her, looking tenderly down into her face. In the first shock of surprise she gazed at him with widely-dilated eyes, as though he had been an apparition from the unseen world; and she seemed to think that she was in a dream, or that she had lost her reason. Then, as the certainty, the reality of the presence rapidly grew upon her—as she became conscious that it was he, himself, Justin Rosenthal, her lover and her beloved, that was standing before her—an overwhelming rush of joy filled her soul; and before she had time to control her countenance, this joy beamed and radiated from every feature of her beautiful face! It was as if the womanhood kept bound and captive in the lowest depths of her heart by pride and principle had suddenly burst her chains and looked forth in liberty and light. It was but for one instant this womanhood showed itself, for in the next the man-hater reasserted her supremacy, and put a strong guard upon her countenance. “Well?” said Justin, answering her various changes of countenance with a trusting smile. “You here!” she exclaimed. “Yes.” It was but a word, calmly spoken; but it told everything. “Why are you here?” she demanded, sternly. But that assumption of sternness came too late. He had seen the transient flash of an exceeding great joy on her face, and even if he had ever entertained any doubts of her real feeling toward him, those doubts were now forever dispelled.