“And I’m even worse than they are,” he returned, his temper rising with his color.  “I ought to have known I was talking to one of his friends, instead of one whom I thought was mine.  I beg your pardon.”

He turned away as Miss Keene, apparently not heeding his pique, crossed the deck, and entered into conversation with Mrs. Markham.

It is to be feared that she found little consolation among the other passengers, or even those of her own sex, whom this profound event had united in a certain freemasonry of sympathy and interest—­to the exclusion of their former cliques.  She soon learned, as the return of the boats to the ship and the ship to her course might have clearly told her, that there was no chance of recovering the missing passenger.  She learned that the theory advanced by Brace was the one generally held by them; but with an added romance of detail, that excited at once their commiseration and admiration.  Mrs. Brimmer remembered to have heard him, the second or third night out from Callao, groaning in his state-room; but having mistakenly referred the emotion to ordinary seasickness, she had no doubt lost an opportunity for confidential disclosure.  “I am sure,” she added, “that had somebody as resolute and practical as you, dear Mrs. Markham, approached him the next day, he would have revealed his sorrow.”  Miss Chubb was quite certain that she had seen him one night, in tears, by the quarter railing.  “I saw his eyes glistening under his slouched hat as I passed.  I remember thinking, at the time, that he oughtn’t to have been left alone with such a dreadful temptation before him to slip overboard and end his sorrow or his crime.”  Mrs. Markham also remembered that it was about five o’clock—­or was it six?—­that morning when she distinctly thought she had heard a splash, and she was almost impelled to get up and look out of the bull’s-eye.  She should never forgive herself for resisting that impulse, for she was positive now that she would have seen his ghastly face in the water.  Some indignation was felt that the captain, after a cursory survey of his stateroom, had ordered it to be locked until his fate was more positively known, and the usual seals placed on his effects for their delivery to the authorities at San Francisco.  It was believed that some clue to his secret would be found among his personal chattels, if only in the form of a keepsake, a locket, or a bit of jewelry.  Miss Chubb had noticed that he wore a seal ring, but not on the engagement-finger.  In some vague feminine way it was admitted without discussion that one of their own sex was mixed up in the affair, and, with the exception of Miss Keene, general credence was given to the theory that Mazatlan contained his loadstar—­the fatal partner and accomplice of his crime, the siren that allured him to his watery grave.  I regret to say that the facts gathered by the gentlemen were equally ineffective.  The steward who had attended the missing man was obliged