“Poor thing! poor thing! what put such a strange fancy into your head?  An enemy in my ship!  Why, there is not a man on board who would not cut off his right hand rather than harm one hair of your poor, witless, defenseless head!  There was not a dry eye on the deck when you and the rest wuz lifted from the raft!”

“I understand this prevalence of sympathy for misfortune perfectly, and honor it; yet I have heard a voice since my immurement in this cabin which must belong”—­and I whispered the dreaded name—­“to Mr. Basil Bainrothe!”

As I spoke I eyed him steadily, and I fancied that his cheek flushed and his eye wavered—­that clear and honest eye which had given him a high place in my consideration from the moment I met its gaze.

“You must have been delirious-like when you conceited you heerd that strange voice,” he said, presently.  “I’ll send you my passenger-list if you choose, and you can read it over keerfully.  I don’t think you’ll find that name, though, in its kolynms,” shaking his head sagaciously.

“Captain Van Dorne, do you mean to say there is no such passenger in your ship’s list as Basil Bainrothe?” I asked, desperately.

“That’s what I mean to say.”

“Give me your honor on this point.  It is a vital one to me.  Your honor!”

He hesitated and looked around.  Just at this moment of apparent uncertainty, a slight tap was heard on the ground-glass eye above us that threw a sullen and unwilling light upon the scene of our interview.  It seemed to nerve him strangely.

“On my word of honor, as an American seaman, I assure you that the name of Basil Bainrothe is not on the ship’s list at this present speaking;” and, as he spoke, he held up his right hand, adding, as he dropped it, doggedly, “Ef the man’s on board I don’t know it!”

“It is enough—­I believe you, Captain Van Dorne.  And now I want to ask you, as a parting grace, to convey me yourself to the Astor House, and place my watch” (detaching it from my neck as I spoke) “in the hands of the proprietors as a proof of my honest intentions.  For yourself, I shall seek another opportunity.”

“Not at all—­not at all!” he interrupted.  “Keep your watch, young lady.  No such pledge will be required by them proprietors; and, as to myself, if it had not been for this paper,” drawing from his pocket, and flattening on his knees as he spoke, the slip I had before observed, then glancing at me sharply, “I could never have believed that such a pretty-spoken, pretty-behaved young creetur could have been non com.  But pshaw! what am I talking about?  This paper is as old as last year’s krout!  You don’t keer nothing about seeing of it, do you, now?” and he crumpled it in his hand.

“Not unless it concerns me in some way, Captain Van Dorne,” I said, coldly.  His manner had suddenly become offensive to me, and I longed to see him depart, having transacted my affairs, as far, at least, as I deemed it prudent to insist on such transaction.