on to the deck and attempt to walk about, an effort which promptly resulted in a fall into the scuppers.  He picked her up, and asked if she would not like to sit down, but she faintly declined, saying that she did not mind falling so long as she could walk a little—­she did not feel so sick when she walked.  Under these circumstances he could hardly do less than help her, which he did in the only way at all practicable with one so weak, namely, by walking her about on his arm.

In the midst of his interesting peregrinations he observed Mrs. Carr gazing out of her deck cabin window, looking, he thought, pale, but sweetly pretty, and rather cross.  When that lady saw that she was observed, she pulled the curtain with a jerk and vanished.  Shortly after this Arthur’s companion vanished too, circumstances over which she had no control compelling her, and Arthur himself sat down rather relieved.

But he was destined that day to play knight-errant to ladies in distress.  Presently Mrs. Carr’s cabin-door opened, and that lady herself emerged therefrom, holding on to the side-rail.  He had just begun to observe how charmingly she was dressed, when some qualm seized her, and she returned to re-enter the cabin.  But the door had swung-to with the roll of the vessel, and she could not open it.  Impelled by an agony of doubt, she flew to the side, and, to his horror, sprang with a single bound on to the broad rail that surmounted the bulwark netting, and remained seated there, holding only to a little rope that hung down from the awning-chain.  The ship, which was at the moment rolling pretty heavily, had just reached the full angle of her windward roll, and was preparing for a heavy swing to leeward.  Arthur, seeing that Mrs. Carr would in a few seconds certainly be flung out to sea, rushed promptly forward and lifted her from the rail.  It was none too soon, for next moment down the great ship went with a lurch into a trough of the sea, hurling him, with her in his arms, up against the bulwarks, and, to say truth, hurting him considerably.  But, if he expected any thanks for this exploit, he was destined to be disappointed, for no sooner had he set his lovely burden down, than she made use of her freedom to stamp upon the deck.

“How could you be so foolish?” said he.  “In another moment you would have been flung out to sea!”

“And pray, Mr. Heigham,” she answered, in a cutting and sarcastic voice, “is that my business or your own?  Surely it would have been time enough for you to take a liberty when I asked you to jump over after me.”

Arthur drew himself up to his full height and looked dignified—­he could look dignified when he liked.

“I do not quite understand you, Mrs. Carr,” he said, with a little bow.  “What I did, I did to save you from going overboard.  Next time that such a little adventure comes in my way, I hope, for my own sake, that it may concern a lady possessed of less rudeness and more gratitude.”