For the first week or two he paid her no more than the most ordinary attentions, and the dread she at first felt for him began to wear off; she could not help admitting to herself that he was certainly handsome and attractive. The pet name by which she was known amongst her family--the Red Lily--soon leaked out on board, as such things will, and the passengers with whom she was most intimate frequently addressed her in this style by way of compliment, for she was a favourite with them all, and her beauty was a theme of admiration amongst the men, even the ladies could not help but admit that she _was_ ‘good-looking,’ though they said spiteful things about her, as women will say of each other. Alfred Cornell had never addressed her in any other way but as ‘Miss Hetherington’; but one morning, when the ship was in the tropics, she had gone on deck very early to see the sun rise. The heat in the cabins was so great that she could not sleep, and as the sailors had just finished holy-stoning and washing down she had thrown a loose robe over her shoulders and gone quietly on to the poop. It was Cornell’s watch, but in all probability she did not know that at the time. It was a very long poop, and save for the man at the wheel not a soul was to be seen. The sea was oily in its calmness, and the sky was aflame with the most gorgeous colours, such colours as can be nowhere seen save in the tropics, and only then when the sun with regal pomp and splendour commences to rise. The sails hung in heavy folds against the masts, and there was a rhythmical kind of motion in the ship as she rose and fell ever so gently to the light swell which even in the calmest ocean is never absent. Lily leaned pensively against the mizzen rigging, gazing thoughtfully across the sleeping sea to where the gold, and amethyst, and purples, and scarlets were blended together in one blaze of dazzling colour. Suddenly she was startled by a voice speaking in a subdued tone close to her ear, and which said: ‘The Red Lily is up early this morning.’ She recognised the voice as that of Cornell, and turning quickly round said, with much dignity: ‘Excuse me, sir, I am Miss Hetherington to you.’ ‘Miss Hetherington,’ he answered, strongly emphasising the words. ‘I beg your pardon, but the pretty name so fits you that I made bold to use it. I trust I have not offended you.’ ‘Oh, no,’ she said, as she averted her gaze from his piercing eyes, for she felt like a bird before the fabled basilisk. She would have rushed away, but was spellbound. The strange man held her in a thrall. ‘How charming you look this morning,’ he remarked. ‘Why, you put even the glory of the sunrise to shame.’