He had an exciting and passionate half-hour, unlocking trunks, and dragging to light such garments as were necessary for the change. For the most part they lay at the bottom of each receptacle and were elusive. He was hot and dishevelled, when with fingers that shook from agitation he fastened the last button and closed the door on the chaos in his cabin. There was a precious half-hour gone--another was to be sacrificed to lunch--for the ship provided an excellent déjeuner for the passengers’ friends, and my lady was humanly hungry. When he came to the covered promenade deck the mails were being run on board, which meant that in half an hour the bell would ring for all who were not travelling to go on shore, and the blessed opportunity which fate had thrown in his way would be lost. She seemed more inclined to discuss the possibility of his reaching her brother--a pardonable anxiety on her part, but which, unreasonably, he resented. Yet he calmed himself to listen, answering more or less intelligently. He writhed in silent despair as the minutes passed, and something like a groan escaped from him as the ship’s bell clanged the familiar signal. He rose, a little pale. “I am afraid this is where we part,” he said unsteadily, “and there were one or two things I wanted to say to you.” She sprang up, a little alarmed, he thought--certainly confused, if he judged rightly by the pink and white that came to her cheek. “I wanted to say--to ask you--I am not much of a fellow as fellows go, and I dare say you think I am a----” He had too many openings to this speech of his and was trying them all. “Perhaps you had better wait,” she said gently. “I intended writing to you,” he went on, “as soon as we touched Sierra Leone--in fact, I was going to write from here.” A quartermaster came along the deck. “Any more for the shore?” He glanced inquiringly at the pair. “Last gangway’s bein’ pulled off, m’am.” Amber looked hopelessly down at her. Then he sighed. “I am afraid I shall have to write after all,” he said ruefully, and laughed. Her smile answered his, but she made no movement. Again the bell clanged. “Unless you want to be taken on to the Alebi Coast,” he said, half jestingly, “you will have to go ashore.” Again she smiled. “I want to be taken out to the Alebi Coast,” she said, “that is what I have paid my passage money for.” Amber was wellnigh speechless. “But--you can’t--your luggage?” “My luggage is in my cabin,” she said innocently; “didn’t you know I was coming with you?” Amber said nothing, his heart being too full for words. * * * * * When they were five days out, and the sugar-loaf mountain of Teneriffe was sinking behind them, Amber awoke to the gravity of the situation. “I’ve been a selfish pig,” he said; “if I’d had the heart to do it I could have persuaded you to leave the ship at Santa Cruz--you ought not to come.”