“Would she never stop—­never give one loop-hole for doubt to enter?” I thought.

“But what in the world ails you—­has Dunmore, the disconsolate, been making love again?  Has Captain Falconer declared himself too soon? and do you hesitate, on account of Miss Moore?  Don’t let that consideration influence you, I beg, for she is the greatest flirt in Savannah, the truest to the vocation, and I like her for that, anyhow.  Whatever a man or woman has to do, let him or her do earnestly.  That isn’t exactly Scripture, but near enough, don’t you think so?” and she laughed merrily.

“I have been on deck this morning,” I commenced, “Miss Lamarque, and saw Christian Garth, and—­”

“He has been terrifying and electrifying you again with his tale of horrors—­there, it is all out.  Why, he is as sensational as ‘Jane Eyre,’ this new English novel I am just reading,” drawing it from under her pillow and holding it aloft as she spoke.  “Currer Bell is not more mysteriously awful, but Garth is not artistic.  I detected his intention by the inconsistency of his expression of face, which bore no part in his narrative, and at once exposed him, you must remember—­”

“Oh, yes—­but this time—­”

“Nonsense, Miriam Harz! the iceberg is gone, I know.  Why, what a nervous coward you are, to be sure, with all that assumed bravery!  I am twice as courageous, I do believe, despite appearances; I really begin to be of opinion that it is safer to be at sea than on land—­now what do you think of that for a heterodoxy?—­A second cup? why, of course, and a third, if you want it; I am delighted you like it.  These little Sevres toys are but thimbles, but I always carry them about with me by sea and land, and have for years; I feel as if there were luck in them, not one of the original three has been broken—­there—­there!—­just as I was boasting, too!—­never mind, such accidents will occur; but your pretty pongee dress is sadly stained with the coffee; besides, as you dropped the cup, it is your luck, not mine; and I want an odd saucer, anyhow, to feed Desiree out of; she sleeps in that willow basket you see in the corner of the state-room, Miss Harz, and is lazy, like her mistress, of mornings.—­Desiree!  Desiree! peep out, can’t you, now you have your long-desired Sevres saucer to lap milk from?—­She won’t touch delft, Miss Harz.  She is the most fastidious little creature!”

“Alas! alas!” and I groaned aloud.

“Not taking on about that silly cup, I hope—­no; what can it be then, a megrim?  No.  Well, I can’t imagine any thing worse, to save my life.  Here, let me read you this, it is fine—­it is where Jane Eyre feels herself deserted, and this comparison about ’the dried-up channel of a river’ thrills one.  Just hear it;” and she was about commencing—­

“Not now—­not now, Miss Lamarque; stern realities demand our attention.  Lay your book aside, be calm, be firm, but listen to me seriously.  Christian Garth informs me, nor he alone—­my own eyes have done the rest—­that the cotton in the hold has taken fire from the lightning yesterday; has been slowly smouldering ever since the mast was struck—­and that the ship’s hours are numbered!”