He laid his broad, brown hand on mine that clutched the rail--a solemn gesture--and he said, in a shaking voice, "My dear, it's well you remind me that it's my business to take care of you. We have got our duty to do, both of us. Come, it's getting late; it's bed time. We mustn't stay here in the moonlight and let ourselves get foolish." Still holding my hand, he led me downstairs. At the door of my cabin he gave it a great strong squeeze, and then let it go without another word. He did not kiss me. Oh, true heart! Death to him would have been infinitely easier than the ordeal I made him suffer through those long weeks. But he never allowed himself to be overcome. It was not long after this that the dreaded moment came when land was reported. Words cannot describe my terror of the impending change. It was my only safe haven--my home--from which I was, as I thought, to be cast out, and I simply dared not imagine what sort of life awaited me. The crippled Racer anchored in Hobson's Bay at nightfall. Most of the passengers went off in boats, and those who rowed to the ship returned with them. Dressed in walking clothes, I sat in the little cabin that had been my sitting-room, listening and shivering, trying (with the example I had before me) to brace myself to meet things as a brave woman should; but no one came for me. Only Tom. Rather late in the evening, when all had gone except the steerage woman and her children, with whose husband and father he had made some business arrangement, the captain entered my private apartment alone for the first time. There was an indescribable expression on his face, which had looked so fagged of late. His eyes did not meet mine. His whole frame trembled like a girl's. "Oh, has he come?" I cried--I believe I almost shrieked. "No," said he; "he hasn't come. You'd better go to bed now--go and sleep if you can--and I'll tell you about it to-morrow." "What is it?" I implored. "What has happened? What have you heard? Oh, tell me now, for pity's sake!" He sat down on the little bunk beside me, and took my hand between his two hands; he did it as a father might do it, to support my weakness under the shock coming. "The fact is, Mrs. Filmer--the fact is, dear--I sent ashore for news. I thought I'd better make some inquiries first. And--and--and----" "I know--I know! He has left the country, and abandoned me again!" "No, poor fellow! He died of that illness--six months ago." At first I did not understand the meaning of the words. It was an event that had never entered into my calculations, strange to say. But the moment I realised the position--it is a dreadful, dreadful thing to confess, but God knows I never meant any harm--my arms instinctively went up to Tom's stooping shoulders and, hiding my face in his breast, I nearly swooned with joy. CHAPTER II. IN THE EARLY DAYS.