For the first time in his life, Sebastian seemed to be aware that he was shunned.  He retired more and more within himself for company; his keen eye began to lose in some degree its extraordinary fire, his expression to forget its magnetic attractiveness.  Indeed, it was only young men of scientific tastes that Sebastian could ever attract.  Among them, his eager zeal, his single-minded devotion to the cause of science, awoke always a responsive chord which vibrated powerfully.

Day after day passed, and we steamed through the Straits and neared the Channel.  Our thoughts began to assume a home complexion.  Everybody was full of schemes as to what he would do when he reached England.  Old Bradshaws were overhauled and trains looked out, on the supposition that we would get in by such an hour on Tuesday.  We were steaming along the French coast, off the western promontory of Brittany.  The evening was fine, and though, of course, less warm than we had experienced of late, yet pleasant and summer-like.  We watched the distant cliffs of the Finistere mainland and the numerous little islands that lie off the shore, all basking in the unreal glow of a deep red sunset.  The first officer was in charge, a very cock-sure and careless young man, handsome and dark-haired; the sort of young man who thought more of creating an impression upon the minds of the lady passengers than of the duties of his position.

“Aren’t you going down to your berth?” I asked of Hilda, about half-past ten that night; “the air is so much colder here than you have been feeling it of late, that I’m afraid of your chilling yourself.”

She looked up at me with a smile, and drew her little fluffy, white woollen wrap closer about her shoulders.  “Am I so very valuable to you, then?” she asked—­for I suppose my glance had been a trifle too tender for a mere acquaintance’s.  “No, thank you, Hubert; I don’t think I’ll go down, and, if you’re wise, you won’t go down either.  I distrust this first officer.  He’s a careless navigator, and to-night his head’s too full of that pretty Mrs. Ogilvy.  He has been flirting with her desperately ever since we left Bombay, and to-morrow he knows he will lose her for ever.  His mind isn’t occupied with the navigation at all; what he is thinking of is how soon his watch will be over, so that he may come down off the bridge on to the quarter-deck to talk to her.  Don’t you see she’s lurking over yonder, looking up at the stars and waiting for him by the compass?  Poor child! she has a bad husband, and now she has let herself get too much entangled with this empty young fellow.  I shall be glad for her sake to see her safely landed and out of the man’s clutches.”

As she spoke, the first officer glanced down towards Mrs. Ogilvy, and held out his chronometer with an encouraging smile which seemed to say, “Only an hour and a half more now!  At twelve, I shall be with you!”