“I shall sit up all night watching for you,” declared Miss Jansell untruthfully. In this cheerful fashion the conversation proceeded, the girl, who was by no means insensible to his bright eager face and well-knit figure, dividing her time in the ratio of three parts to her book and one to him. Time passed all too soon for the mate, when they were interrupted by a series of hoarse unintelligible roars proceeding from the schooner’s cabin. “That’s father,” said Miss Jansell, rising with a celerity which spoke well for the discipline maintained on the _Aquila;_ “he wants me to mend his waistcoat for him.” She put down her book and left, the mate watching her until she disappeared down the companion-way. Then he sat down and waited. One by one the crew returned to the steamer, but the schooner’s deck showed no signs of life. Then the skipper came, and, having peered critically over his vessel’s side, gave orders to get under way. “If she’d only come up,” said the miserable mate to himself, “I’d risk it, and ask whether I might write to her.” This chance of imperilling a promising career did not occur, however; the steamer slowly edged away from the schooner, and, picking her way between a tier of lighters, steamed slowly into clearer water. “Full speed ahead!” roared the skipper down the tube. The engineer responded, and the mate gazed in a melancholy fashion at the water as it rapidly widened between the two vessels. Then his face brightened up suddenly as the girl ran up on deck and waved her hand. Hardly able to believe his eyes, he waved his back. The girl gesticulated violently, now pointing to the steamer, and then to the schooner. “By Jove, that girl’s taken a fancy to you,” said the skipper. “She wants you to go back.” The mate sighed. “Seems like it,” he said modestly. To his astonishment the girl was now joined by her men folk, who also waved hearty farewells, and, throwing their arms about, shouted incoherently. “Blamed if they haven’t all took a fancy to you,” said the puzzled skipper; “the old man’s got the speaking-trumpet now. What does he say?” “Something about life, I think,” said the mate. “They’re more like jumping-jacks than anything else,” said the skipper. “Just look at ’em.” The mate looked, and, as the distance increased, sprang on to the side, and, his eyes dim with emotion, waved tender farewells. If it had not been for the presence of the skipper—a tremendous stickler for decorum—he would have kissed his hand. It was not until Gravesend was passed, and the side-lights of the shipping were trying to show in the gathering dusk, that he awoke from his tender apathy. It is probable that it would have lasted longer than that but for a sudden wail of anguish and terror which proceeded from the cabin and rang out on the still warm air. “Sakes alive!” said the skipper, starting; “what’s that?”