At the end of an hour she again knocked softly at the door, carrying some light nourishment she had prepared for him.  He was asleep, but she was astounded to find that in the interval he had managed to dress himself completely in his antiquated finery.  It was a momentary shock to the allusion she had been fostering, but she forgot it in the pitiable contrast between his haggard face and his pomatumed hair and beard, the jauntiness of his attire and the collapse of his invalid figure.  When she had satisfied herself that his sleep was natural, she busied herself softly in arranging the miserable apartment.  With a few feminine touches she removed the slovenliness of misery, and placed the loose material and ostentatious evidences of his work on one side.  Finding that he still slept, and knowing the importance of this natural medication, she placed the refreshment she had brought by his side and noiselessly quitted the apartment.  Hurrying through the gathering darkness between decks, she once or twice thought she heard footsteps, and paused, but encountering no one, attributed the impression to her over-consciousness.  Yet she thought it prudent to go to the galley first, where she lingered a few moments before returning to the cabin.  On entering she was a little startled at observing a figure seated at her father’s desk, but was relieved at finding it was Mr. Renshaw.

He rose and put aside the book he had idly picked up.  “I am afraid I am an intentional intruder this time, Miss Nott.  But I found no one here, and I was tempted to look into this ship-shape little snuggery.  You see the temptation got the better of me.”

His voice and smile were so frank and pleasant, so free from his previous restraint, yet still respectful, so youthful yet manly, that Rosey was affected by them even in her preoccupation.  Her eyes brightened and then dropped before his admiring glance.  Had she known that the excitement of the last few hours had brought a wonderful charm into her pretty face, had aroused the slumbering life of her half-wakened beauty, she would have been more confused.  As it was, she was only glad that the young man should turn out to be “nice.”  Perhaps he might tell her something about ships; perhaps if she had only known him longer she might, with De Ferrieres’ permission, have shared her confidence with him, and enlisted his sympathy and assistance.  She contented herself with showing this anticipatory gratitude in her face as she begged him, with the timidity of a maiden hostess, to resume his seat.

But Mr. Renshaw seemed to talk only to make her talk, and I am forced to admit that Rosey found this almost as pleasant.  It was not long before he was in possession of her simple history from the day of her baby emigration to California to the transfer of her childish life to the old ship, and even of much of the romantic fancies she had woven into her existence there.  Whatever ulterior purpose he had in view, he listened as attentively as if her artless chronicle was filled with practical information.  Once, when she had paused for breath, he said gravely, “I must ask you to show me over this wonderful ship some day that I may see it with your eyes.”