“I seem to give your Majesty difficulty; the silence isn’t flattering,” she said mockingly; but she was conscious of a certain excitement as she walked the deck beside him.

“Oh, pardon me!  The difficulty is only as to title—­you would, of course, occupy the dais; but whether you should be queen or empress—­that’s the rub!  If America is to be an empire, then of course you would be an empress.  So there you are answered.”

They passed laughingly on to the other phases of the matter in the whimsical vein that was natural in her, and to which he responded.  They watched the lights of an east-bound steamer that was passing near.  The exchange of rocket signals—­that pretty and graceful parley between ships that pass in the night—­interested them for a moment.  Then the deck lights went out so suddenly it seemed that a dark curtain had descended and shut them in with the sea.

“Accident to the dynamo—­we shall have the lights on in a moment!” shouted the deck officer, who stood near, talking to a passenger.

“Shall we go in?” asked Armitage.

“Yes, it is getting cold,” replied Shirley.

For a moment they were quite alone on the dark deck, though they heard voices near at hand.

They were groping their way toward the main saloon, where they had left Mr. and Mrs. Claiborne, when Shirley was aware of some one lurking near.  A figure seemed to be crouching close by, and she felt its furtive movements and knew that it had passed but remained a few feet away.  Her hand on Armitage’s arm tightened.

“What is that?—­there is some one following us,” she said.

At the same moment Armitage, too, became aware of the presence of a stooping figure behind him.  He stopped abruptly and faced about.

“Stand quite still, Miss Claiborne.”

He peered about, and instantly, as though waiting for his voice, a tall figure rose not a yard from him and a long arm shot high above his head and descended swiftly.  They were close to the rail, and a roll of the ship sent Armitage off his feet and away from his assailant.  Shirley at the same moment threw out her hands, defensively or for support, and clutched the arm and shoulder of the man who had assailed Armitage.  He had driven a knife at John Armitage, and was poising himself for another attempt when Shirley seized his arm.  As he drew back a fold of his cloak still lay in Shirley’s grasp, and she gave a sharp little cry as the figure, with a quick jerk, released the cloak and slipped away into the shadows.  A moment later the lights were restored, and she saw Armitage regarding ruefully a long slit in the left arm of his ulster.

“Are you hurt?  What has happened?” she demanded.

“It must have been a sea-serpent,” he replied, laughing.

The deck officer regarded them curiously as they blinked in the glare of light, and asked whether anything was wrong.  Armitage turned the matter off.