hastened forward, bowing low, hat in hand.  She barely recognized him, her gaze traveling beyond the fellow toward the disappearing line of prisoners.  It was an evening promising storm, with some motion to the sea, and a heavy bank of clouds visible off the port quarter, brightened by flashes of zigzag lightning.  The brig rolled dizzily, so the cavalier sought to steady her steps, but she only laughed at the effort, waving him aside, as she moved easily forward.  Once with hand on the rail, she ignored his presence entirely, looking first at the threatening cloud, and then permitting her gaze to rest once more upon the line of men descending through the hatch.

It had become my turn to go down, yet in that instant our eyes met fairly, and I instantly knew she saw and recognized me.  For a single second our glances clung, as though some mysterious influence held us to each other—­then the angry guard struck me with the stock of his piece.

“What er ye standin’ thar fer?” he demanded savagely.  “Go on down—­lively now.”

I saw her clasping fingers convulsively grip the rail, and, even at that distance, marked a sudden flame of color in her cheeks.  That was all her message to me, yet quite enough.  Although we had never spoken, although our names were yet unknown, I was no criminal to her mind, no unrecognized prisoner beneath contempt, but a human being in whom she already felt a personal interest, and to whom she extended thought and sympathy.  The blow of the gun-stock bruised my back, yet it was with a smile and a light heart that I descended the ladder, deeply conscious of a friend on board—­one totally unable to serve me, perhaps, yet nevertheless a friend.  Even in our isolation, guarded in those narrow quarters, much of the ship gossip managed in some way to reach our ears.  How it drifted in was often a mystery, yet there was little going on aboard we failed to hear.  Much of it came to us through those detailed to serve food, while guards and sailors were not always averse to being talked with.  We always knew the ship’s course, and I managed to keep in my mind a very dear idea of how the voyage progressed.  Not a great deal of this gossip, however, related to the passengers aft, who kept rather exclusively to themselves, nor did I feel inclined to question those who might have the information.  I had no wish to reveal my interest to others, and so continued entirely ignorant of the identity of the young woman.  She remained in my memory, in my thoughts nameless, a dream rather than a reality.  I did learn quite by accident that the gay gallant was a wealthy Spaniard, supposedly of high birth, by name Sanchez, and at one time in the naval service, and likewise ascertained that the rotund planter, so evidently in the party, was a certain Roger Fairfax, of Saint Mary’s in Maryland, homeward bound after a successful sale of his tobacco crop in London.  It was during his visit to the great city that he had met Sanchez, and his praise of the Colonies had induced the latter to essay a voyage in his company to America.  But strange enough no one so much as mentioned the girl in connection with either man.