“Still reading?” he said softly, as he came abreast of the girl.  “All about love, I s’pose.”

“Have you left my mother down there all by herself?” inquired the girl abruptly.

“Just a minute,” said the mate, somewhat crestfallen.  “I just came up to see the engineer.”

“Well, he isn’t here,” was the discouraging reply.

The mate waited a minute or two, the girl still reading quietly, and then walked back to the cabin.  The sound of gentle regular breathing reached his ears, and, stepping softly, he saw to his joy that his visitor slept.

“She’s asleep,” said he, going back, “and she looks so comfortable I don’t think I’ll wake her.”

“I shouldn’t advise you to,” said the girl; “she always wakes up cross.”

“How strange we should run up against each other like this,” said the mate sentimentally; “it looks like Providence, doesn’t it?”

“Looks like carelessness,” said the girl.

“I don’t care,” replied the mate.  “I’m glad I did let that line go overboard.  Best day’s work I ever did.  I shouldn’t have seen you if I hadn’t.”

“And I don’t suppose you’ll ever see me again,” said the girl comfortably, “so I don’t see what good you’ve done yourself.”

“I shall run down to Limehouse every time we’re in port, anyway,” said the mate; “it’ll be odd if I don’t see you sometimes.  I daresay our craft’ll pass each other sometimes.  Perhaps in the night,” he added gloomily.

“I shall sit up all night watching for you,” declared Miss Jansell untruthfully.

In this cheerful fashion the conversation proceeded, the girl, who was by no means insensible to his bright eager face and well-knit figure, dividing her time in the ratio of three parts to her book and one to him.  Time passed all too soon for the mate, when they were interrupted by a series of hoarse unintelligible roars proceeding from the schooner’s cabin.

“That’s father,” said Miss Jansell, rising with a celerity which spoke well for the discipline maintained on the Aquila; “he wants me to mend his waistcoat for him.”

She put down her book and left, the mate watching her until she disappeared down the companion-way.  Then he sat down and waited.

One by one the crew returned to the steamer, but the schooner’s deck showed no signs of life.  Then the skipper came, and, having peered critically over his vessel’s side, gave orders to get under way.

“If she’d only come up,” said the miserable mate to himself, “I’d risk it, and ask whether I might write to her.”

This chance of imperilling a promising career did not occur, however; the steamer slowly edged away from the schooner, and, picking her way between a tier of lighters, steamed slowly into clearer water.

“Full speed ahead!” roared the skipper down the tube.  The engineer responded, and the mate gazed in a melancholy fashion at the water as it rapidly widened between the two vessels.  Then his face brightened up suddenly as the girl ran up on deck and waved her hand.  Hardly able to believe his eyes, he waved his back.  The girl gesticulated violently, now pointing to the steamer, and then to the schooner.