I came out of the ship’s galley with a rejoicing heart, and peeped at the door of the other as I passed, but Tom was not in sight. However, he now had my letter; no risk had been run, not the most suspicious mind, not the most vigilant eye in the ship, could have imagined or detected what had passed between my sweetheart and me. My spirits were in a dance; for my letter would tell him as much--as much to the point, I mean--as my lips could have uttered in a half-hour’s meeting. I figured his impatience to read it, the glow of hope and pleasure that would warm his poor, dear heart as he read, the courage and support he would get out of it. ‘You vhas light-hearted this morning,’ said Frank to me, as we helped the steward to prepare the breakfast-table. ‘Dere vhas no twopenny postman at sea, or I should say dot you hov’ received some goodt news.’ ‘It is the weather,’ I answered; ‘and then a young apprentice has kindly given me a clean flannel shirt to wear.’ ‘Who’s the apprentice?’ exclaimed Mr. Stiles, who overheard me. ‘Mr. Johnstone,’ I answered. ‘Picked him up aboard, or did yer know him before you stowed yourself away?’ ‘My father was a client of his father’s,’ I replied. ‘Wither me if it ain’t a-coming stronger and stronger with you every day!’ exclaimed Mr. Stiles. ‘What are you going to turn out afore you’re done?’ he added, stopping in his work to look at me. ‘I tell you vhat it vhas, sir,’ said Frank. ‘Dis vhas no ordinary shentleman. Dis vhas a young nobleman in disguise.’ ‘Hold your yaw-yawing!’ cried the steward. ‘Who’s a-talking to you? You’re always a-putting in, you are, and a-stopping the work.’ The cuddy breakfast-bell was rung, and at half-past eight the captain and officers seated themselves. I received a sort of nod from Lieutenant Chimmo, and Captain Barrett looked at me pleasantly. Both men suggested that they regarded me as coming near to their social level. This was odd, for, as a rule, people rather shrink from and give the cold shoulder to gentle-folks who have been sunk by fortune into getting their bread in mean positions such as mine was on board that ship. Captain Sutherland never heeded me, but sometimes I thought the doctor’s stern eyes rested upon me with an expression of inquiry. The cuddy was full of sunlight; the glory of the morning sparkled in glass and crystal and plate, and the radiance was made lovely by the soft atmospheric azure tint which floated into it off the blue sea. ‘When do you start your school, doctor?’ said Captain Barrett. ‘On Monday,’ was the answer. ‘Captain,’ said Lieutenant Chimmo, addressing the commander of the ship, ‘did you see Barney Abram washing himself this morning? What a chest! What arms! Cut his head and legs off, fossilise what’s left, chuck the torso into the Tiber, and when dredged up it would be sworn to as the most magnificent fragment of ancient art in the wide world.’