After musing some time on his follower’s communication and suspicions, he resolved to unravel whatever mystery might be attached to the matter, by visiting the invalid immediately. On his knocking gently at the door for admission, he was answered from within by the nurse that her patient was asleep, and ought not now to be disturbed; but being determined not to allow another day to pass in uncertainty, he went on deck, and summoning Jacques, told him to go down presently and inform the nurse that in the evening, as soon as her patient was awake, he should pay him a visit. Jacques received this mandate with some confusion, and began to stammer something about the “poor boy not being disturbed.” “Harkee, sir,” said Ethelston sternly; “I am captain on board this craft, and will be obeyed: as you go into that cabin three or four times a day to attend upon the invalid, methinks my presence cannot be so dangerous. I will take the risk upon myself: you hear my orders, sir, and they are not to be trifled with!” Jacques disappeared, and Ethelston remained pacing the deck. In about half an hour the latter came up to him and said, “The young gentleman will receive the captain at sundown.” “Very well,” replied Ethelston, and continued to pace the deck, revolving in his mind all the strange events of the last month,—his illness, the unfortunate passion of Nina, and her strange behaviour when he bid her farewell. At the appointed time he went down, and again knocked at the side cabin door for admission: it was opened by the nurse, apparently a young woman of colour, who whispered to him in French, “Go in, sir, and speak gently to him, for he is very delicate.” So saying, she left the cabin, and closed the door behind her. Ethelston approached the sofa, on which the grey evening light permitted him to see a slight figure, covered with a mantle; and addressing the invalid kindly, he said, “I fear, young sir, you must have suffered much during the gale.” “No, I thank you,” was the reply, but so faintly uttered as to be scarcely audible. “Can I do anything to make your stay on board more comfortable?” “Yes,” was the whispered answer. “Then tell me what, or how; as I have promised to do all in my power to make the voyage agreeable to you.” After a pause of a minute, during which the invalid seemed struggling with repressed emotion, the mantle was suddenly thrown aside, the recumbent figure sprang from the sofa, and Nina stood before him! “Yes,” she said; “you _have_ promised—and my ears drank in the promise: for it, and for you, I have abandoned home, country, kindred,—what do I say,—I have abandoned nothing; for you are to me home, kindred, country, every thing! Dear, dear Ethelston! this moment repays me for all I have suffered.” As she spoke thus, she threw her arms round his neck, and hid her blushing face upon his breast.