followed—raised him to a place in her estimation so
hopelessly high above her, that she became uneasy
and impatient until she had pulled down the idol
again, which she herself had set up. It was
on these occasions that she most rigidly exacted
from him all those little familiar attentions
so precious to women in their intercourse with
men. "This hand," she thought, with an
exquisite delight in secretly following the
idea while he was close to her—"this hand
that has rescued the drowning from death—
is shifting my pillows so tenderly that I
hardly know when they are moved. This hand
that has seized men mad with mutiny, and
driven them back to their duty by main force—
is mixing my lemonade and peeling my fruit,
more delicately and more neatly than I could do
it for myself. Oh, if I could be a man, how I
should like to be such a man as this!"

She never allowed her thoughts, while she
was in his presence, to lead her beyond that
point. It was only when the night had separated
them, that she ventured to let her mind dwell on
the self-sacrificing devotion which had so mercifully
rescued her. Kirke little knew how she
thought of him, in the secresy of her own chamber,
during the quiet hours that elapsed before
she sunk to sleep. No suspicion crossed his
mind of the influence which he was exerting
over her—of the new spirit which he was
breathing into that new life, so sensitively open
to impression in the first freshness of its
recovered sense! "She has nobody else to amuse
her, poor thing," he used to think sadly, sitting
alone in his small second-floor room. "If a
rough fellow like me can beguile the weary
hours, till her friends come here, she is heartily
welcome to all that I can tell her."

He was out of spirits and restless now, whenever
he was by himself. Little by little, he fell
into a habit of taking long lonely walks at night,
when Magdalen thought he was sleeping
upstairs. Once, he went away abruptly in the
daytime—on business, as he said. Something
had passed between Magdalen and himself the
evening before, which had led her into telling
him her age. "Twenty, last birthday," he
thought. "Take twenty from forty one. An
easy sum in subtraction—as easy a sum as
my little nephew could wish for." He walked
to the Docks, and looked bitterly at the shipping.
"I mustn't forget how a ship is made,"
he said. "It won't be long before I am back
at the old work again." On leaving the Docks,
he paid a visit to a brother-sailor—a married
man. In the course of conversation, he asked
how much older his friend might be than his
friend's wife. There was six years' difference
between them. "I suppose that's difference
enough?" said Kirke. "Yes," said his friend.
"Quite enough. Are you looking out for a
wife, at last? Try a seasoned woman of thirty-
five—that's your mark, Kirke, as near as I can
calculate."

The time passed smoothly and quickly—the
present time, in which she was recovering
so happily—the present time, which he was
beginning to distrust already.

Early one morning, Mr. Merrick surprised
Kirke, by a visit in his little room on the second
floor.

"I came to the conclusion yesterday," said
the doctor, entering abruptly on his business,
"that our patient was strong enough to justify
us, at last, in running all risks, and communicating
with her friends; and I have accordingly
followed the clue which that queer fellow,
Captain Wragge, put into our hands. You remember
he advised us to apply to Mr. Pendril, the
lawyer? I saw Mr. Pendril two days ago, and
was referred by him—not over willingly, as I
thought—to a lady, named Miss Garth. I heard
enough from her, to satisfy me that we have
exercised a wise caution in acting as we have
done. It is a very, very sad story—and I am
bound to say, that I, for one, make great
allowances for the poor girl down stairs. Her
only relation in the world is her elder sister.
I have suggested that the sister shall write to
her in the first instance—and then, if the letter
does her no harm, follow it personally in a day
or two. I have not given the address, by way
of preventing any visits from being paid here,
without my permission. All I have done is to
undertake to forward the letter; and I shall
probably find it at my house, when I get back.
Can you stop at home until I send my man with
it? There is not the least hope of my being
able to bring it myself. All you need do, is to
watch for an opportunity when she is not in
the front room, and to put the letter where
she can see it when she comes in. The
handwriting on the address will break the news,
before she opens the letter. Say nothing to
her about it—take care that the landlady is
within call—and leave her to herself. I know
I can trust you to follow my directions; and
that is why I ask you to do us this service. You
look out of spirits this morning. Natural
enough. You're used to plenty of fresh air,
captain, and you're beginning to pine in this
close place."

"May I ask a question, doctor? Is she
pining in this close place, too? When her sister
comes, will her sister take her away?"

"Decidedly—if my advice is followed. She
will be well enough to be moved, in a week or
less. Good day. You are certainly out of spirits,
and your hand feels feverish. Pining for the
blue water, captain—pining for the blue water!"
With that expression of opinion, the doctor
cheerfully went out.

In an hour, the letter arrived. Kirke took it
from the landlady reluctantly, and almost roughly,
without looking at it. Having ascertained that
Magdalen was still engaged at her toilet, and
having explained to the landlady the necessity
of remaining within call, he went down stairs
immediately, and put the letter on the table in
the front room.

Magdalen heard the sound of the familiar step
on the floor. "I shall soon be ready," she called
to him through the door.