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“The whole affair had a scanty air about it,” said Captain Guy. “At least, that’s the way I look at it.”

“You’ve never said anything like that before,” said Mary, rather sharply.

“Of course not,” replied the captain. “I wanted to keep you as merry and cheerful as I could. And besides, I didn’t say I had thought there was no chance of Mr. Rockwell’s turning up. I only said I considered it a little scantish.”

“Love you?” continued Mary Phillips; “I should say so. I should have brought her on deck to wave her handkerchief to you and kiss her hand–perhaps, when you blew the state of your feelings through a trumpet; but she wasn’t strong enough. She was a pretty weak woman in body and mind about that time. But from the moment I told her, and she knew that you not only loved her, but were willing to say so, she began to mend. And how she did talk about you, and how she did long that the two ships might come together again! She kept asking me what I thought about the condition of your vessel and whether it would be like to sink if a storm came on. I could not help thinking that, as far as I knew anything about ships, you’d be likely to float for weeks after we’d gone down, but I didn’t say that to her. And then she began to wonder if you had understood that she had received your message and was glad to get it. And I told her over and over and over again that you must have heard me, for I screamed my very loudest. I am very glad that I didn’t know that you only caught those two words.”

“Dear girl!” I ejaculated. “And did she send me a message on a life-preserver?”

“You mean to say that you got it?” cried Mary Phillips.

“No,” said I; “it floated away from me. What was it?”

“I got up that little scheme,” said Mary Phillips, “to quiet her. I told her that a letter might be floated to you that way, and that, anyway, it would do no harm to try. I don’t know what she wrote, but she must have said a good deal, for she took a long time about it. I wrapped it up perfectly water-tight. She made the flag herself out of one of her own handkerchiefs with her initial in the corner. She said she thought you would like that.”

“Oh, that it had come to me!” I cried.

“I wish from the bottom of my soul that it had,” said Mary, compassionately. “It would have done you a lot of good on that lonely ship.”

“Instead of which,” observed Captain Guy, “some shark probably swallowed it, and little good it did him.”

“It put a lot of affection and consideration into him,” said Mary, a little brusquely, “and there are other creatures connected with the sea who wouldn’t be hurt by that sort of thing.”

“There’s a shot into me!” cried the captain. “Don’t do it again. I cry quarter!”

“I must go,” I said, rising; “I can wait no longer.”

“Well,” said Mary, “you may not be much too soon, if you go slowly.”

“But before I go,” I said, “tell me this: Why did she not send me some word from Lisbon? Why did she not give Captain Stearns a line on a piece of paper or some message?”

“A line! a message!” exclaimed Mary. “She sent you a note; she sent you a dozen messages by Captain Stearns.”

“And I’ll wager a month’s pay,” said Captain Guy, “that he never delivered one of them.”

“He gave me no note,” I cried.

“It’s in the pocket of his pea-jacket now,” said Captain Chesters.

“He did deliver some messages,” I said, “after I questioned him; but they were such as these: Keep up a good heart; everything’s bound to be right in the end; the last to get back gets the heartiest welcome. Now, anybody could have sent such words as those.”