News of the mate’s heroic conduct became general the next day, and work on the ketch was somewhat impeded in consequence. It became a point of honor with Mr. Heard’s fellow-townsmen to allude to the affair as an accident, but the romantic nature of the transaction was well understood, and full credit given to Mr. Dix for his self-denial in the matter of the medal. Small boys followed him in the street, and half Pebblesea knew when he paid a visit to the Smith’s, and discussed his chances. Two nights afterwards, when he and Miss Smith went for a walk in the loneliest spot they could find, conversation turned almost entirely upon the over-crowded condition of the British Isles. The _Starfish_ was away for three weeks, but the little town no longer looked dull to the mate as she entered the harbor one evening and glided slowly towards her old berth. Emma Smith was waiting to see the ship come in, and his taste for all other amusements had temporarily disappeared. For two or three days the course of true love ran perfectly smooth; then, like a dark shadow, the figure of Arthur Heard was thrown across its path. It haunted the quay, hung about the house, and cropped up unexpectedly in the most distant solitudes. It came up behind the mate one evening just as he left the ship and walked beside him in silence. “Halloa,” said the mate, at last. “Halloa,” said Mr. Heard. “Going to see Emma?” “I’m going to see Miss Smith,” said the mate. Mr. Heard laughed; a forced, mirthless laugh. “And we don’t want you following us about,” said Mr. Dix, sharply. “If it’ll ease your mind, and do you any good to know, you never had a chance. She told me so.” “I sha’n’t follow you,” said Mr. Heard; “it’s your last evening, so you’d better make the most of it.” He turned on his heel, and the mate, pondering on his last words, went thoughtfully on to the house. [Illustration: “‘And we don’t want you following us about,’ said Mr. Dix, sharply.”] Amid the distraction of pleasant society and a long walk, the matter passed from his mind, and he only remembered it at nine o’clock that evening as a knock sounded on the door and the sallow face of Mr. Heard was thrust into the room. “Good-evening all,” said the intruder. “Evening, Arthur,” said Mr. Smith, affably. Mr. Heard with a melancholy countenance entered the room and closed the door gently behind him. Then he coughed slightly and shook his head. “Anything the matter, Arthur?” inquired Mr. Smith, somewhat disturbed by these manifestations. “I’ve got something on my mind,” said Mr. Heard, with a diabolical glance at the mate—“something wot’s been worrying me for a long time. I’ve been deceiving you.” “That was always your failing, Arthur—deceitfulness,” said Mrs. Smith. “I remember—”