During that time I had not ceased to berate myself for my inexcusable procrastination.  As she went away without knowing my feelings toward her, of course there could be no correspondence.  Whatever she might have suspected, or whatever she might have expected, there was nothing between us.

But on my part my love for Bertha had grown day by day.  Hating the city and even the country where I had seen her and loved her and where now she was not, I travelled here and there, and during the winter went to the West Indies.  There I had remained until the weather had become too warm for a longer sojourn, and then I had taken passage in the Thespia for New York.  I knew that Bertha would return to the city in the spring or summer, and I wished to be there when she arrived.  If, when I met her, I found her free, there would be no more delay.  My life thenceforth would be black or white.  And now here she was near me in a half-wrecked steamer on the wide Atlantic, with no companion, as I knew, but her maid, Mary Phillips.

I now had a very distinct recollection of Mary Phillips.  In my visits to the Nugent household in Forty-second Street I had frequently seen this young woman.  Two or three times when Miss Nugent had not been at home, I had had slight interviews with her.  She always treated me with a certain cordiality, and I had some reason to think that if Miss Nugent really suspected my feelings, Mary Phillips had given her some hints on the subject.

Mary Phillips was an exceedingly bright and quick young woman, and I am quite sure that she could see into the state of a man’s feelings as well as any one.  Bertha had given me many instances of her maid’s facilities for adapting herself to circumstances, and I was now thankful from the bottom of my heart that Bertha had this woman with her.

I was recovering from the stupefaction into which my sudden emotions had plunged me, when a hail came across the water, first in Mary Phillips’s natural voice, and then through a speaking-trumpet.  I stood up and answered.

“I was wondering,” cried Mary Phillips, “what had become of you; I thought perhaps you had gone down to breakfast.”  In answer I called to her to tell me where Miss Nugent was, how she was, how she came to be in this surprising situation, and how many people there were on board the steamer.

“Miss Nugent has not been at all well,” answered Mary, “but she brightened up as soon as I told her you were here.  She cannot come on deck very well, because the pitch of the ship makes the stairs so steep.  But I am going to give her her breakfast now, and after she has eaten something she may be stronger, and I will try to get her on deck.”

Brightened up when she knew I was near!  That was glorious!  That brightened up creation.