A charming first night aboard ship it was, the moon full, the sky picturesque, the sea dark, except where the steamer and her screws churned it white; at the bow, showers and spray of phosphorus, and at the stern, rippling eddies and a long path of phosphorus and white foam. Christine wished she could transfer to canvas the swift steamer, as she felt it in her soul, powerful as a giant and graceful as a woman; at the mast-head an electric star, red and green lights on either side, long rows of tremulous bulbs of light from numerous portholes; the officers on the bridge with night glass in hand, walking to and fro, dark figures of sailors at the bow and in the crow's nest, all eyes and ears. "All's well" lulls to sleep the after-dinner loungers in chairs along the deck, while brave men and fair women keep step to entrancing music. With a week of favorable weather, and unprecedented speed the record out was won; officers, sailors, passengers, all were jubilant. On Pier 14, North River, Fredrika and her husband met Christine, and drove to their fine home overlooking the Central Park. * * * * * Alfonso Harris had come on to New York to spend a week of pleasure; already he had secured his ticket for Amsterdam via Antwerp by the Red Star Line. He was prepared to keep his promise to Christine. "To match gold with gold!" In his rounds among the artists he happened to step into the Art Student's League, and there learned that his old artist-chum, Leo, was in New York, and stopping at the Plaza Hotel. At once he took cab, and, surely enough, there on the hotel register was the name Leo Colonna, Rome. Alfonso sent up his card, and the waiter soon returned with the reply, "The marquis will see Mr. Harris at once in his rooms." It is needless to say that the marquis was both shocked and delighted to see alive a friend whom he supposed long ago dead. After dinner Alfonso and Leo drove to their old club, and as ever talked and confided in each other. Alfonso told the marquis the romantic story of his life, of his pecuniary success, and that he should sail in a few days to wed Christine, if possible. The marquis hesitated in his reply, as if in doubt whether to proceed or not. Observing this, Alfonso said, "Speak freely, tell me what you were thinking about." "Nothing, Alfonso, only a report I heard at the club last night." "What report, marquis?" "A report or story concerning a beautiful widow, who had just arrived from Amsterdam. From the minute description given--she had fair face, blue eyes, fleecy hair and loved art--I suspected that the woman in black might be Christine De Ruyter." "You surprise me, Leo, but what was the report?" "Alfonso, pardon me, I have said too much already." "No, go on and tell me all."