“I hope I could be cheerful anywhere, sir,” said the ship’s cook.  “But you mark my words—­there must have been a deal of troublesome work with the flower-beds in the Garden of Eden.”

Having entered that unanswerable protest, John Want shouldered the box, and drifted drearily out of the boat-house.

Left by himself, Crayford looked at his watch, and called to a sailor outside.

“Where are the ladies?” he asked.

“Mrs. Crayford is coming this way, sir.  She was just behind you when you came in.”

“Is Miss Burnham with her?”

“No, sir; Miss Burnham is down on the beach with the passengers.  I heard the young lady asking after you, sir.”

“Asking after me?” Crayford considered with himself as he repeated the words.  He added, in lower and graver tones, “You had better tell Miss Burnham you have seen me here.”

The man made his salute and went out.  Crayford took a turn in the boat-house.

Rescued from death in the Arctic wastes, and reunited to a beautiful wife, the lieutenant looked, nevertheless, unaccountably anxious and depressed.  What could he be thinking of?  He was thinking of Clara.

On the first day when the rescued men were received on board the Amazon, Clara had embarrassed and distressed, not Crayford only, but the other officers of the Expedition as well, by the manner in which she questioned them on the subject of Francis Aldersley and Richard Wardour.  She had shown no signs of dismay or despair when she heard that no news had been received of the two missing men.  She had even smiled sadly to herself, when Crayford (out of compassionate regard for her) declared that he and his comrades had not given up the hope of seeing Frank and Wardour yet.  It was only when the lieutenant had expressed himself in those terms and when it was hoped that the painful subject had been dismissed—­that Clara had startled every one present by announcing that she had something still to say in relation to Frank and Wardour, which had not been said yet.  Though she spoke guardedly, her next words revealed suspicions of foul play lurking in her mind—­exactly reflecting similar suspicions lurking in Crayford’s mind—­which so distressed the lieutenant, and so surprised his comrades, as to render them quite incapable of answering her.  The warnings of the storm which shortly afterward broke over the vessel were then visible in sea and sky.  Crayford made them his excuse for abruptly leaving the cabin in which the conversation had taken place.  His brother officers, profiting by his example, pleaded their duties on deck, and followed him out.

On the next day, and the next, the tempest still raged—­and the passengers were not able to leave their state-rooms.  But now, when the weather had moderated and the ship had anchored—­now, when officers and passengers alike were on shore, with leisure time at their disposal—­Clara had opportunities of returning to the subject of the lost men, and of asking questions in relation to them which would make it impossible for Crayford to plead an excuse for not answering her.  How was he to meet those questions?  How could he still keep her in ignorance of the truth?