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She hated me; and made no bones about it; but there was an armed truce between us. She feared my influence over Graves, and I feared her–well, just as some people fear rats or snakes. Things utterly out of the normal always do worry me, and Bo, which was the name Graves had learned for her, was, so far as I know, unique in human experience. In appearance she was like an unusually good-looking island girl observed through the wrong end of an opera-glass, but in habit and action she was different. She would catch flies and little grasshoppers and eat them all alive and kicking, and if you teased her more than she liked her ears would flatten the way a cat’s do, and she would hiss like a snapping-turtle, and show her teeth.

But one got accustomed to her. Even poor Don learned that it was not his duty to punish her with one bound and a snap. But he would never let her touch him, believing that in her case discretion was the better part of valor. If she approached him he withdrew, always with dignity, but equally with determination. He knew in his heart that something about her was horribly wrong and against nature. I knew it, too, and I think Graves began to suspect it.

Well, a day came when Graves, who had been up since dawn, saw the smoke of a steamer along the horizon, and began to fire off his revolver so that I, too, might wake and participate in his joy. I made tea and went ashore.

“It’s her steamer,” he said.

“Yes,” said I, “and we’ve got to decide something.”

“About Bo?”

“Suppose I take her off your hands–for a week or so–till you and Miss Chester have settled down and put your house in order. Then Miss Chester–Mrs. Graves, that is–can decide what is to be done. I admit that I’d rather wash my hands of the business–but I’m the only white man available, and I propose to stand by my race. Don’t say a word to Bo–just bring her out to the schooner and leave her.”

In the upshot Graves accepted my offer, and while Bo, fairly bristling with excitement and curiosity, was exploring the farther corners of my cabin, we slipped out and locked the door on her. The minute she knew what had happened she began to tear around and raise Cain. It sounded a little like a cat having a fit.

Graves was white and unhappy. “Let’s get away quick,” he said; “I feel like a skunk.”

But Miss Chester was everything that her photograph said about her, and more too, so that the trick he had played Bo was very soon a negligible weight on Graves’s mind.

If the wedding was quick and business-like, it was also jolly and romantic. The oldest passenger gave the bride away. All the crew came aft and sang “The Voice That Breathed O’er E-den That Earliest Wedding-Day”–to the tune called “Blairgowrie.” They had worked it up in secret for a surprise. And the bride’s dove-brown eyes got a little teary. I was best man. The captain read the service, and choked occasionally. As for Graves–I had never thought him handsome–well, with his brown face and white linen suit, he made me think, and I’m sure I don’t know why, of St. Michael–that time he overcame Lucifer. The captain blew us to breakfast, with champagne and a cake, and then the happy pair went ashore in a boat full of the bride’s trousseau, and the crew manned the bulwarks and gave three cheers, and then something like twenty-seven more, and last thing of all the brass cannon was fired, and the little square flags that spell G-o-o-d L-u-c-k were run up on the signal halyards.

As for me, I went back to my schooner feeling blue and lonely. I knew little about women and less about love. It didn’t seem quite fair. For once I hated my profession–seed-gatherer to a body of scientific gentlemen whom I had never seen. Well, there’s nothing so good for the blues as putting things in order.