The second officer of the ‘Sirocco’ was a young man, of about eight or nine-and-twenty, Alfred Cornell. He was a wild, reckless, daring fellow, with a splendid physique. His hair was almost black, his eyes the very darkest shade of brown, and small, keen, and piercing as a hawk’s. In those eyes the character of the man was written. For somehow they seemed to suggest a vain, heartless, selfish, vindictive nature, and the firm lips told of an iron will. He was every inch a sailor, bold as a lion, and a magnificent swimmer. The crew, however, hated him, for he was the hardest of task-masters, but was an especial favourite with the captain, as such men generally are, for he was perfect in every department of his profession, and the sailors under his control were kept to their duties with an iron hand. About this man--Alfred Cornell--there was something that amounted almost to weirdness. The strange, keen eyes exercised a sort of fascination over some people. This was especially the case with women. In fact, he made a boast that he had never yet seen the woman he could not subdue. From the moment that he and Dick Fenton stood face to face a mutual dislike sprang up in their hearts for each other. Dick could not exactly tell why he did not take to the man, but he had an instinctive dislike for him. The fact was there, the cause was not easy to determine, but instincts are seldom wrong. The moment that Alfred Cornell and Lily Hetherington met each other a shadow fell upon her, and a devil came into his heart. She had an instinctive dread of him, and yet felt fascinated. He thought to himself: ‘By heavens, that’s a splendid girl, and I’ll win her if I die for it.’