Part 9 (2/2)

”s.h.!.+ Ridge without the 'way.' For Heaven's sake, don't forget that. It's every bit as important on this s.h.i.+p as on the other. I've been on deck for a look. Say, are you all right? Are you still glad you're alive?” He was holding her hands and looking into her eyes.

”Of course I am. What a ridiculous question! None but the good die young, and I'm not very good or I wouldn't be running away with you. But come,--take me on deck. Is it raining? Why, your coat is wet. Hurry, Hugh; I want to take a good look,” she cried, dragging him up the steps hilariously. A peculiar smile came to his face as he followed her to the deck.

Neither spoke for a full minute, she gazing dumbly at the bleak waste before her, he lovingly at her pretty, bewildered face.

”Where are we, Hugh?” she finally asked, terrified for the moment.

”Where is London?”

”You are not afraid, are you, dearest?” he whispered, his strong arm stealing about her. ”We are on the bounding main, ticketed for a port thousands of miles away. London is back there,” pointing astern.

She placed her hand in his and looked out over the waters. Nothing but rain, leaden sky and rolling waves. What her thoughts were during the silence that followed he learned when she turned to him again, looking imploringly into his eyes.

”Hugh, you will always be good to me?”

”So long as I live, sweetheart,” he said, pressing her hand firmly. For some time they stood alone and silent beneath the awning which covered the promenade, the sleety rain pattering dismally over their heads. But few of the pa.s.sengers were above deck. Several officers were chatting at the end of the deck-house.

”We have not breakfasted yet, Grace, and I'm as hungry as a bear. Isn't it a relief, dear, not to feel the necessity any longer of keeping a sharp lookout for detectives? Those days on the Atlantic, every other man I met I thought was a sleuth-hound bent on capturing the million-dollar reward that has been offered for our capture by Chicago society.”

They went below and found the dining saloon almost deserted. Two or three late risers were drinking a last cup of coffee. Then she told him of the mistake she had made, and together they scanned their fellow-pa.s.sengers in search of the man who occupied the stateroom adjoining hers on the left. He did not appear for luncheon or dinner, and Hugh cheerfully accused her of murdering him.

The next morning, however, he was seated at the table, directly across from Hugh, a trifle pale and far from hungry. He was making a brave effort to conquer the sickness which had seized him. She nudged Hugh and nodded toward the quiet, subdued eater. He looked across and then gave her a questioning glance. She winked affirmatively.

”Poor devil,” muttered Hugh. ”I suppose he was just beginning to feel sick when you yanked him out, as if you were telling him the boat was on fire.”

”Yanked him out? I did nothing but rap on his door. If he were sick, why did he open it and stare at me in such a remarkably healthy fas.h.i.+on?”

”Because you rapped, I suspect. It's no wonder that he stared at a beautiful young lady who had the temerity to visit him before breakfast.

Nice-looking fellow, though, I'll say that much for your sake, sister.

And what's more, I believe he's an American,” said Hugh, surveying the stranger critically.

”I haven't observed his face,” she responded curtly.

”How did you happen to recognize him? By his shoes? You naturally looked down when you saw your mistake, of course, but I don't see how you can get a glance of his shoes now, under the table.”

”I mean I have not noticed whether his face is handsome, Hugh.”

”Better take a look then. He's particularly good-looking with that piece of beefsteak in his check.”

Grace glanced slyly at the man across the table, noting his pale cheeks and the dark rings beneath his eyes. Hugh had misrepresented the facts; he was not eating at all. Instead, he was merely toying with his fork, making uncertain circles in the layer of brown, gravy which covered the plate, his cheek resting on the other hand, a faraway look of distress in his eyes. They were directed at the plate, but saw it not.

”Poor fellow,” she murmured compa.s.sionately; ”he's been awfully sick, hasn't he?”

”Oh, I don't know,” said Hugh heartlessly. ”They don't go to eating in a day's time if they have been very sick.”

A bright look flashed into her eyes and they danced with merriment as she whispered something in his ear.

”By George, maybe you're right. He's a detective and chasing us to earth.”

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