We did not long remain on deck. I found the wind cold, my head slightly ached; I was weary with the exhaustion which follows upon fretting. Mrs. Burke went with me to my cabin, and we spent a long while in talking, recalling old memories, and most of the time she was cheerfully busy in seeing that my things were in their place and that I wanted for nothing. The night had drawn down dark over the ship when we passed from my berth into the state cabin. It was about seven o'clock. Supper was ready. The table was bright with damask and silver and flowers; under the skylight the large globe lamp glowed steadily, and filled the interior with the soft radiance of sperm oil. I heard some men singing out on deck and the noise of ropes flung down upon the planks. The sound was strange and put a sort of wildness into this interior, despite its fifty civilising details of furniture. A young sandy-haired youth, long and lank, in a camlet jacket, stood at the foot of the companion-steps, and swung a bell with evident delight in the noise he made. Mr. Owen started up from a locker in the corner of the cabin on seeing us, and exclaimed: 'There is a brave wind blowing. Captain Burke hopes to be off Deal by midnight.' 'That will be famous work,' said Mrs. Burke. 'But this is a clipper ship.' 'Are we sailing?' said I. 'Yes. Some canvas is spread. But the tug still has hold of us,' responded Mr. Owen. I felt no movement in the ship. She was going along with the seething steadiness of a sleigh. Just then Captain Burke came below. His composed, cheerful face, peak-bearded with red hair and arch, merry Irish eyes, seemed to bring a new atmosphere of light into the place. He addressed some friendly sympathetic question to me; we then seated ourselves, I on the captain's right, and Mr. Owen at the foot of the table. It was my first meal at sea, if indeed the ship could then be called at sea, and memorable to me for that reason. I had tasted no food since breakfast, and now tried to eat, but less from appetite than from the desire to please my old nurse. My chat with her before supper had determined me to fight with my grief, to regard the voyage as a long holiday yachting excursion, which should be happy if I accepted it as a twelvemonth's diversion that was to end in making me a new woman, and in fitting me to become a wife. It was this last point that Mrs. Burke had insisted upon, and, like a good many ideas which are obvious and commonplace when uttered, it took my fancy, lighted up my views as though it had been a sort of revelation, and whilst I sat at supper I was so composed that more than once I caught Mr. Owen dart a glance of surprise at me when I answered or put a question. 'The sea is very smooth here, Edward,' said Mrs. Burke.