“I hope you find yourself comfortable, marm, on board of my ship.”

“And in your state-room, captain?” I interrupted promptly.

“Wall, you see it all belongs to me, kinder,” he said, after seating himself, as he rubbed his huge, projecting knees, plainly indicated through his nankeen trousers, with his capacious, horny hands.  “I’m not very particular, though, where I sleep on shipboard, but at home there’s few more so.”

“I thought a captain was more at home on shipboard than anywhere else,” I pursued mechanically; “such is the theory at least.”

“Oh, not at all, not at all; when he has a snug nest on land, with a wife and children waiting to receive him.  You might as well talk of a man in the new settlements bein’ more at home in his wagon than in his neat, hewn-log cabin.”

“A very good simile, captain, and one that kills the ancient theory outright.  Let me thank you, however, before we proceed further, for all the kindness and attention I have received in this floating castle of yours, both from you and others.  I hope and believe that my companions in misfortune have fared as well.”

“Wall, they have not wanted for nothing as far as I knew—­the poor baby in particular;” and, as he spoke, he roughed his hair with one hand and smiled into my face a huge, honest, gummy smile, inexpressibly reassuring.

“The man is hideous and repulsive,” I thought; “but infinitely preferable, somehow, to the specimen of English aristocracy and her maid who have constituted themselves so far my guardian angels”—­a twinge of ingratitude here, which I resented instantly by settling my patriotic prejudices to be at the root of the thing, and rebuking my mistrust sternly though silently.  “Yet that voice—­how could I be mistaken?” and again I addressed myself to the task before me, having gotten through all preliminaries.

While I sat hesitating as to what I should say, so as to both guard against and conceal my suspicions from the captain’s scrutiny, if, indeed, he might be supposed to possess such a quality, I observed that he drew from his pocket a long slip of newspaper, in which he appeared to bury himself for a time, when not glancing furtively at me, as if waiting impatiently for the coming revelation.

“I have sent for you, Captain Van Dorne,” I said, at last, in very low and even tones, not calculated to reach outside ears, however vigilant, and yet not suppressed by any means to whispers—­“I have sent for you,” and my heart beat quickly as I spoke, “not merely to thank you for your hospitable kindness, but because I wish, for reasons that I cannot now explain, to place myself under your especial care until I reach my friends.”

“Certainly, certainly; but you air among your friends already if you could only think so,” he answered, evasively, still caressing his potato knees with large and outspread hands.

“Do not for one moment deem me unmindful of much kindness, or ungrateful to those who have bestowed it,” I hastened to explain.  “Yet I cannot deny that a fear possesses me that among your passengers may be found one whom I esteem, not without sufficient cause, my greatest enemy.”