Time glided swiftly away. Two weeks of Gusty’s visit were over, but three weeks remained before he would have to go to sea, and the clouds daily gathered thicker over the Gusty sky, when one day the young midshipman who had been appointed to take the post poor Gusty coveted so much, came on board for the first time. It was not in Gusty’s large, generous, and trusting soul, to be easily jealous, neither was it in his human nature to look indifferently upon the young officer, who, during his own absence, was to fill a post near the person of his beloved, so ardently desired by himself. The staff of officers on board the ship was small, consisting of Captain Wilde, Lieutenant Graves, a married man, solemn and repulsive as his name, a little freckle-faced midshipman, and now this new officer, this young passed-midshipman, this _Misther_ Murphy, as Gusty maliciously emphasized his title, what was he going to look like? Gusty wished in his heart that he might be knock-kneed and cross-eyed. Alas for Gusty! Mr. Murphy, Mr. Patrick Murphy O’Murphy, a Southerner of Irish descent—stood six feet six inches in his boots! had the handsomest leg, the broadest shoulders, the fullest chest, the blackest whiskers, and the whitest teeth, in the service. Alas for Gusty! it was too much! he filled right up! he could have sobbed, gushed out, liquidated, deliquesced, fallen upon and overflowed the shoulders of the first friend that came in his way, but for his self-esteem that striking up through all this softness, stiffened and sustained him! Poor Gusty! he was in the briers until he could hear what Rosalia thought of “Mister Murphy,” yet he had an invincible repugnance to name him to her, and to ask her in so many words, what she thought of “Mr. Murphy”—_no!_ _thumb-screws_ would not have wrung such a question from him! nevertheless he must arrive at her opinion of “Mr. Murphy,” or die. Mr. Murphy had been presented to the ladies about half an hour before dinner, and had dined with the Captain. After the ladies had retired from the table and while the gentlemen still lingered over their wine, Gusty slipped away and followed them into the cabin. Sophie was away somewhere. Rosalia was alone. He went up to her, sat down, and drew her on a seat by his side. After all sorts of a desultory, wild, and nonsensical conversation, he suddenly said to her: “Rosalia, do you like handsome men?” “Yes,” said Rosalia, calmly, “I like handsome folks.” “Pshaw! that is just like you. Who is the handsomest man now you ever saw in your life, Rosalia?” “Oh! _Captain Murphy, certainly_—far the handsomest person I ever saw in all my life!” “The d—l! I said so—Irish bog-trotter.” “Oh, don’t use profane language, dear Gusty, please.” “_Captain_, indeed, you simple girl—_he’s_ no captain!” “Ain’t he? I thought he was; indeed he _looks_ like one.” “Oh, he looks like a prince, a king, an emperor, a demi-god, don’t he? Ain’t he like Apollo Belvidere, now?”