Howard Sherwood had taken one long look at the beautiful girl before him, and now he dropped his eyes to the document in his hand. Unconscious of his presence, the fair stranger opened a book and began to read. It was not long before the young newspaper correspondent again raised his eyes, somewhat slyly and shyly. But, instead of that fascinating face, he saw only the back of the book. "Songs of Vassar!" he muttered, as he read the title of the book. "By Jove! can she be a college-bred miss--an American? I thought she must surely be a Spaniard or a Cuban. But perhaps she was sent to the United States by her parents to be educated, and is now going home on account of the war. Heavens! what a form and what features! more perfect than the studies of Spanish beauties by the old masters. I wish she would look up again." Hardly had the last thought come to his lips than the song-book dropped into the fair stranger's lap, and she did look up, humming the last bar of one of the favorite melodies. Her eyes met those of Howard Sherwood fully, the song stopped, the heavy eyelashes shrouded those beautiful orbs, and the young man murmured a sigh that came straight from his heart. In confusion, he once more turned his eyes upon his papers, and soon after both were reading again. But not for long. The private dispatches which Howard Sherwood carried became meaningless to him, and it was in vain that he tried to get to the close of the letter of instructions which had been thrust into his hands at the last moment. That fair face was in his mind's eye, and disturbed him as he had never been disturbed before. At last, totally unaccustomed to such sensations, he arose to his feet, thrust his papers away, and began to pace the deck. "I never saw such a girl before," so ran his thoughts. "Beautiful doesn't express it--she's simply the embodiment of loveliness. What a form, and what a charming face, and such wavy, glossy hair! If Byron were alive, he'd follow her around daily, and write a three-volume poem about her! Pshaw! Howard Sherwood, you must be losing your head--you who have run the entire gauntlet of society in a dozen big cities! Remember, old boy, you are poor now, and must work for a living. Thank your stars you've struck luck as a newspaper correspondent, and leave womankind alone. There will be plenty of things to think about when you reach Cuba and start on your hazardous mission of outwitting the vigilance of the Spanish authorities, and sending in truthful reports of the war." As Howard Sherwood strode along as far as the limit of the upper deck would permit, his attention was attracted to the work of several sailors who were working in the masts, repairing several yard arms which had been damaged by coming in contact with a tall derrick when the steamer was leaving the pier. The sailors were rather careless in their work, one letting a heavy piece of rope fall directly upon the young man's shoulders.