The name literally sang through the brain of the Sailor. Where had he heard it? But he had not time then to hunt it down in his memory. "Mr. Harper." With a feeling of excitement he heard the rolling, unctuous announcement. For a brief instant the vigorous grip and the laughing face of his host put all further speculation to flight. Edward Ambrose was in great heart and looking as only the Edward Ambroses of the world can look at such moments. But he merely gave Henry Harper time to note, with a little stab of dismay, that the tie he had chosen was the wrong color, when he was almost hurled upon Miss Pridmore. "This is Mr. Harper, Mary, whom you wanted to meet." And then with that gay note which the Sailor could never sufficiently approve: "I promised him one admirer. He wouldn't have come without." Where had he heard that name? The question was surging upon the Sailor as he stood looking at her and waiting for her to speak. A moment ago it had been uttered for the first time, yet it was strangely familiar to him. And that face of clear-cut good sense, with eyes of a fathomless gray, where had he seen it? "I should love to have been a sailor." Those were her first words. That voice, where had he heard it? It seemed to be coming back to him out of the years, out of the measureless Pacific. A Hyde Park lady was speaking in Bury Street, St. James', but at that moment he was not in London, not in England, not in Europe at all. He was on the high seas aboard the _Margaret Carey_, he was in his bunk in the half-deck. In one hand he held a sputtering candle; in the other a torn fragment of the _Brooklyn Eagle_. It was Klondyke who was speaking. The Fairy Princess was speaking with the voice of his immortal friend. "I have a brother who has sailed before the mast." In a flash he remembered the inscription in Klondyke's Bible: "Jack Pridmore is my name, England is my nation." The mystery was solved. This was Klondyke's sister. There was no mistaking the resemblance of voice, of feature; this was the unforgettable girl he had seen with Klondyke in Hyde Park. He suddenly remembered that he must say something. It would hardly be proper to stand there all night with his mouth open, yet with not a word coming out of it. "I think I know your brother," were his first words. They were not the result of deliberate choice. Some new and strange power seemed to have taken complete possession of him. "You've met my brother Jack?" "Yes. We were aboard the same craft pretty near two years. We used to call him Klondyke." A delightful laugh rang in his ears. "What a perfect name for him! I must tell that to my mother. It was because he had been in the Klondyke, I suppose." "Yes, that was it. He had been in the Klondyke. He used to yarn about it on the _Margaret Carey_. We were both berthed for'ard in the half-deck. His bunk was under mine." "Isn't it odd that we should meet like this!"