The present!  He was immediately to learn how dearly he prized it; for as he gazed seaward, the smoke of a steamship, below the horizon, appeared.  He sprang to his feet and watched it eagerly; and yet when that faint column grew more dim and finally faded, he sat back constrained to confess that he was almost glad the course of the steamship was as it was.  He fought against it, thinking of the girl in the cabin and her interests.  And yet—­and yet?  He shrugged his shoulders and walked toward the door, lured by the song which he remembered so clearly.

  “If I had you!  If I had you!  You!”

“Will I do?” he laughed, peering in at her open door.

“For the present, yes,” she bowed, “because I want you to admire.  See, I have been decorating my room with unbleached muslin.  Aren’t those curtains dear?  And those silesia bunk tapestries, aren’t they fascinating?”

“They are, indeed.  How much would you charge to beautify my cabin?”

Virginia blushed.

“You had better ask how much you owe me,” she said.  Then, “You haven’t looked in your cabin!  And after all my labor, too!”

With an exclamation Dan darted across the corridor and beheld, with kindling eyes, many evidences of that feminine touch without which hardened bachelors may fancy their quarters complete.  She had followed him to the door and was gazing over his shoulder.  Something caught in Dan’s throat.  Always a man’s man, as the saying is, the full force of the realization of his strange situation seemed rushing from the interior of that cabin to overpower him.  A girl, a beautiful girl, one whom he had looked upon as he had looked upon the beautiful unattainable things of this life, planning and executing for his pleasure, and blushing joyously to find that which she had done for him pleasing in his sight, left him bereft of words.

He turned to her and strove to speak, and then suddenly he faced about and walked hurriedly to the deck.  She came up behind him and placed her hand upon his shoulder and smiled, understanding.  His eyes met hers, and then, with an involuntary movement, his arm was about her waist.  For a full minute they stood thus, neither moving, she regarding him with wondering eyes, but still smiling slightly.

Suddenly he started; his arm swiftly dropped, and he glanced with a jerk of his head towards the sail.

“Are we getting out of our course?” she asked.

“I was,” he said, scowling, “but I won’t again.  Can you forgive one who is no better than a—­than a blamed pirate?”

“I can forgive you everything but calling yourself names,” she said gently.

Before another hour had passed, clouds began to rise from out the sea.  There came a fitful breeze, with a little hum to it.  To the southeast-ward the horizon assumed a grayish-white tinge.

Dan watched it anxiously, and the girl followed his gaze and then glanced at him inquiringly.