"Not heard of Mme. Czerny!" cried I, in astonishment, "not heard of her--why, what shore do you hail from, then? Don't you know that she's his wife, doctor--his wife?" He turned to his bottles and went on arranging them. He was speaking and acting now at the same time. "I came ashore with Prince Czerny when he landed here three days ago. He did not speak of his wife. There are others in America who would be interested in the news--young ladies, I think." He paused for a little while, and then he said quietly: "You would be friends of the Princess's, no doubt?" "Princess be jiggered," said I; "that is to say, God forgive me, for I love Miss Ruth better than my own sister. He's no more a prince than you are, though that's a liberty, seeing that I don't know your name, doctor. He's just Edmond Czerny, a Hungarian musician, who caught a young girl's fancy in the South, and is making her suffer for it here in the Pacific. Why, just think of it. A young American girl----" He stopped me abruptly, swinging round on his heel and showing the first spark of animation he had as yet been guilty of. "An American girl?" cried he. "As true as the Gospels, an American girl. She was the daughter of Rupert Bellenden, who made his money on the Western American Railroad. If you remember the Elbe going down, you won't ask what became of him. His son, Kenrick Bellenden, is in America now. I'd give my fortune, doctor, to let him know how it fares with his sister on this cursed shore. That's why my own ship sails for 'Frisco this day--at least, I hope and believe so, for otherwise she's at the bottom of the sea." I told the story with some heat, for amazement is the enemy of a slow tongue; but my excitement was not shared by him, and for some minutes afterwards he stood like a man in a reverie. "You came in your own ship!" he exclaimed next. "Why, yes, you would not have walked. Did Mme. Czerny ask you here?" "It was a promise to her," said I. "She left the money with her lawyers for me to bring a ship to Ken's Island twelve months after her marriage. That promise I kept, doctor, and here I am and here are my shipmates, and God knows what is to be the end of it and the end of us!" He agreed to that with one of those expressive nods which spared him a deal of talk. By-and-bye, without referring to the matter any more, he turned suddenly to Peter Bligh and exclaimed: "Halloa, my man, and what's the matter with you?" Now, Peter Bligh sat up as stiff as a board and answered directly. "Hunger, doctor, that's the matter with me! If you'll add thirst to it, you've about named my complaint." "Fog out of your lungs, eh?" "Be sure and it is. I could dance at a fair and not be particular about the women. Put me alongside a beef-steak and you shall see some love-making. Aye, doctor, I'll never get my bread as a living skeleton, the saints be good to me, my hold's too big for that!"