“I feel quite curious to see this Miss Jones,” said Miss Cooper amiably, as they sat at dinner. “She’ll be on the quay, waving her handkerchief to him,” said the mate. “We’ll be in to-morrow afternoon, and then you’ll see her.” As it happened, the mate was a few hours out in his reckoning, for by the time the _Falcon’s_ bows were laid for the small harbour it was quite dark, and the little schooner glided in, guided by the two lights which marked the entrance. The quay, seen in the light of a few scattered lamps, looked dreary enough, and, except for two or three indistinct figures, appeared to be deserted. Beyond, the broken lights of the town stood out more clearly as the schooner crept slowly over the dark water towards her berth. “Fine night, cap’n,” said the watchman, as the schooner came gently alongside the quay. The skipper grunted assent. He was peering anxiously at the quay. “It’s too late,” said the mate. “You couldn’t expect her this time o’night. It’s ten o’clock.” “I’ll go over in the morning,” said Evans, who, now that things had been adjusted, was secretly disappointed that Miss Cooper had not witnessed the meeting. “If you’re not going ashore, we might have a hand o’ cards as soon’s we’re made fast.” The mate assenting, they went below, and were soon deep in the mysteries of three-hand cribbage. Evans, who was a good player, surpassed himself, and had just won the first game, the others being nowhere, when a head was thrust down the companion-way, and a voice like a strained foghorn called the captain by name. “Ay, ay!” yelled Evans, laying down his hand. “I’ll come down, cap’n,” said the voice, and the mate just had time to whisper “Old Jones” to Miss Cooper, when a man of mighty bulk filled up the doorway of the little cabin, and extended a huge paw to Evans and the mate. He then looked at the lady, and, breathing hard, waited. “Young lady o’ the mate’s,” said Evans breathlessly,—“Miss Cooper. Sit down, cap’n. Get the gin out, Bill.” “Not for me,” said Captain Jones firmly, but with an obvious effort. The surprise of Evans and the mate admitted of no concealment; but it passed unnoticed by their visitor, who, fidgeting in his seat, appeared to be labouring with some mysterious problem. After a long pause, during which all watched him anxiously, he reached over the table and shook hands with Evans again. “Put it there, cap’n,” said Evans, much affected by this token of esteem. The old man rose and stood looking at him, with his hand on his shoulder; he then shook hands for the third time, and patted him encouragingly on the back. “Is anything the matter?” demanded the skipper of the _Falcon_ as he rose to his feet, alarmed by these manifestations of feeling. “Is Mary—is she ill?” “Worse than that,” said the other—“worse’n that, my poor boy; she’s married a lobster!”