“Did Mr. Stroth come to breakfast?” said he, without preliminary. “No,” I replied, as directly. “The Jap took it in to him.” Not another word passed, but he looked his chagrin, which bordered upon anger. Then he paced back to his position on the quarter-deck. The few minutes that were left me alone I gave to thinking over the revelations just made me by this girl. I watched the waters swirling past the beam, though they let in no light upon the mystery. But I did glow with delight at the thought that, whatever shady guilt hung over that low-lying vessel, it was not shared by her. My feeling toward her hadn’t changed a whit; I loved her even more intensely, but certainly it was a strange situation. There was a quietness about it all, an inevitableness that bore the irrevocable stamp of fate itself. Predetermined it was--my love for her--and, as such, to be greeted quietly, mildly. It was decided, and I was happy. I know how absurd this sounds as I thus word it, but it’s as near as I can come to the actual fact. She joined me within ten minutes, and began chatting happily about everything around us. I noticed that the course had been shifted westward during the night, which brought us closer by the wind, and our leeward rail was gurgling to a smart angle of heel. It was fine sailing. “Oh, look!” cried the girl. “The mist is lifting.” She pointed to starboard, a bit forward of our beam. “Captain Stevens,” and she trotted over to him, “what lighthouse is that?” “You’ve a quick eye, Miss Stella,” replied Stevens. “It’s Montauk Point.” She clapped her hands delightedly. “And haven’t they wireless there?” “To be sure they have. If the fog lifts a little more you’ll be able to see the apparatus.” “Then let’s communicate with them! Won’t that be fun? You’re the operator yourself, aren’t you, captain?” “Yes,” the little man answered slowly, “but I’m afraid we can’t do much talking with our own instrument, Miss Stella. You see, we broke it on the way to Portland.” “Oh, well, then we can’t, of course,” she said, in disappointment. It was a lie on Stevens’ part, but it was a lie that I rather rejoiced in, for it certainly would not do to have the shore wireless suspect who we were. I knew Pawlinson well enough by now not to want that. And so, with the whimsicality of her temperament, she offered to compromise for her disappointment if she could have a “trick” at the wheel. “Oh, that’ll be easy enough,” agreed Stevens, glad to shift the topic as he motioned the fellow at the helm to one side. And the next two minutes proved that she knew that game well. I can see her now, braced to the roll--her little hands clutching the spokes sturdily--her eyes with the upward minding of the mainsail’s quivering luff, for we were sailing a taut full-and-by. There was a girl for you! I have never witnessed a more violent shift of weather in such latitude, or a more sudden.