Florimel finished her meal, and set about examining the cabin more closely. The result was bewilderment. How could a yacht, fitted with such completeness, such luxury, be lying for hire in the Thames? As for the crest on the plate, that was a curious coincidence: many people had the same crest. But both materials and colours were like those of the Pysche! Then the pretty bindings on the book-shelves attracted her: every book was either one she knew or one of which Malcolm had spoken to her! He must have had a hand in the business! Next she opened the door of the state-room; but when she saw the lovely little white berth, and the indications of every comfort belonging to a lady’s chamber, she could keep her pleasure to herself no longer. She hastened to the companion-way, and called Malcolm. “What does it all mean?” she said, her eyes and cheeks glowing with delight. “It means, my lady, that you are on board your own yacht, the Pysche. I brought her with me from Portlossie, and have had her fitted up according to the wish you once expressed to my lord, your father, that you could sleep on board. Now you might make a voyage of many days in her.” “Oh, Malcolm!” was all Florimel could answer. She was too pleased to think as yet of any of the thousand questions that might naturally have followed. “Why, you’ve got the Arabian Nights, and all my favourite books there!” she said at length.--“How long shall we have before we get among the ships again?” She fancied she had given orders to return, and that the boat had been put about. “A good many hours, my lady,” answered Malcolm. “Ah, of course!” she returned; “it takes much longer against wind and tide.--But my time is my own,” she added, rather in the manner of one asserting a freedom she did not feel, “and I don’t see why I should trouble myself. It will make some to-do, I daresay, if I don’t appear at dinner; but it won’t do anybody any harm. They wouldn’t break their hearts if they never saw me again.” “Not one of them, my lady,” said Malcolm. She lifted her head sharply, but took no farther notice of his remark. “I won’t be plagued any more,” she said, holding counsel with herself, but intending Malcolm to hear. “I will break with them rather. Why should I not be as free as Clementina? She comes and goes when and where she likes, and does what she pleases.” “Why, indeed?” said Malcolm; and a pause followed, during which Florimel stood apparently thinking, but in reality growing sleepy. “I will lie down a little,” she said, “with one of those lovely books.” The excitement, the air, and the pleasure generally had wearied her. Nothing could have suited Malcolm better. He left her. She went to her berth, and fell fast asleep.