At last his eyes brightened, and he threw out his handkerchief as a signal.
A young man who stood near the gangway answered this recognition with a wave of the hand; a moment after he was on the deck, and Isabel came gladly forward.
"Dear Joseph! this is so kind of you; we heard that your father was worse, and hardly expected you," she said.
"He is worse, but I could not let you and Farnham go away for so long without a parting word," answered the youth, reaching his hand to Frederick, who held it affectionately in his.
"Don't say anything sorrowful now, or you will set me off into another crying fit," said Isabel, striving to laugh back the tears that came into her eyes, as she turned away, burying her face in the flowers with which she was still encumbered.
"Come this way one moment, Edward, I want to speak with you," said young Farnham, drawing the young artist aside. "I want you to paint me a picture, old fellow, anything you please!"
"Shall I paint Isabel from memory?" said the young man, with a quiet smile, glancing at the young girl.
Farnham blushed.
"You can't do it, Joseph; no pencil on earth can paint her! but—but if you are not joking, I should like it of all things."
"I can make the effort," was the good-natured reply.