The steward voiced the mate’s instructions; the last passenger came aboard and the last friend went ashore.  The gangplank was hauled in, the lines cast off and the Port Rock steamer slid out from her slip.

She was well down the harbor before Jan took a piece of paper from his pocket.  “Number two hundred and seventy-six,” he read.  “That’s it—­two hundred and seventy-six.”  And seeking out the number he knocked on the door.  It opened slightly and Jan saw peeking out at him the lips, chin and half an eye each side of the nose of a pretty and well-dressed girl.  Jan looked up at the number over the door again to see if he had made a mistake.  Then the door opened more widely—­and it was she, smiling out at him; but so rosy and terribly pretty that Jan felt afraid and drew back.

“I thought maybe you would like to get out for some fresh air soon,” he stammered.

“I was just trying on the new hat I bought with the money you sent up last night—­and a shirtwaist and a lovely long coat.  How did you get through the night?”

“Fine!  I went over to the dry dock and turned into a bunk on the schooner.”

She made a mouth at the mirror.  “That was no place to sleep.  You should have taken a comfortable room at the hotel.”

Jan was silent.

“Yes, you should.  I’ll be right out.”

She came out, but with her face veiled, and clung close to him as they walked the deck.  Jan sniffed the air.

“Snow, I think,” he said.

“Meaning a storm?  I was never in a storm.  Are they terrible?”

“A storm is nothing,” said Jan, “when you get used to them.  But will we go in to supper?”

They went in.  The boat was now outside the harbor and pitching slightly.

She did not eat much and at length laid down her knife and fork.”

“Sea-sick?” asked Jan.

“No.  I must be too frightened to be sea-sick.”

“Frightened of what?”

“Of him.”  She leaned across the table.  “I’m sure I saw him.  Yes—­spying through the window of my room just before I left it just now.”

Jan tranquilly went on eating.  “He can’t hurt you aboard a boat.”

“I don’t mind that, so he won’t hurt you.”

Jan shook his head.  “He won’t because he can’t on here without getting caught.”

They stepped outside at last.  Cozy enough in the dining-room; but outside the snow was now thick enough to show white on deck where the passengers had not tramped it down.  They sought the open space in the bow—­Jan to see how it looked ahead and Mrs. Goles to feel the fresh gale blowing in her face.

“It’s a north-east snow-storm,” said Jan, “and coming thicker.  But no danger.  No—­no danger,” he repeated quickly, with a glance at her.

“It’s not danger of a storm I fear,” she said simply.  She was peering, not ahead at the darkening, rising sea but at the form and face of every muffled-up passenger who came near them.