CHAPTER I.
Renunciation.
Two men, side by side, were slowly pacing the deck of the Empress of India on her outward voyage to Japan. A week had almost passed since the boat had sailed from Vancouver, and the extremely bad weather encountered until this afternoon had prevented all but the most hardened good sailors from penetrating from below. Now, however, the wind and sea had somewhat abated, the first ray of sun had brought the storm-tossed and sea-sick from their berths, and the broad decks were soon swarming with passengers of both sexes, whose faces and general demeanour expressed entire satisfaction at their restored liberty.
Monsieur de Güldenfeldt, the newly-appointed Swedish Minister to Japan, though an experienced and enterprising traveller, was watching this motley crew through his eye-glass with an amused and somewhat quizzical expression. He had seen many such scenes, and yet to his observant mind they were ever new and always entertaining. He was at the present moment occupied in gazing at a French priest, a German commercial traveller, and a cadaverous-looking Englishman discussing with varied gesticulations some point in the political situation, on which question each appeared as ignorant as he was positive, and he was vaguely wondering what means they would ultimately find to unravel the tangled skein, when he felt his companion, a tall dark man with a black moustache and a distinguished nose, grip him by the arm.
"By Jove, de Güldenfeldt!" exclaimed the latter excitedly, while an unusual air of animation lit up his somewhat sleepy eyes, "Isn't that Mrs. Norrywood? That woman about whom there has been all that fuss, you know. Or am I dreaming?"
Monsieur de Güldenfeldt glanced along the deck and fixed his eyes on a lady who, all unconscious of the notice she was attracting, slowly came towards them.
"Not much doubt on that point, I fancy," he replied, as the tall, graceful figure passed near them. "I've known her for years. As one knows people about Town, you know. Dined with her, and that sort of thing. There's no mistaking her. Sapristi! what a beautiful woman she is! I wonder if Martinworth is on board: if they are together, you know."
Sir Ralph Nicholson pensively stroked his moustache, but did not reply.
"It would give me intense satisfaction to be acquainted with the rights of that story," continued de Güldenfeldt. "It was an uncommonly mixed up affair. Doubtless, Nicholson, you will put me down as a fool, but I believe that I am one of the few people who, after having followed the evidence from the beginning to the end, still believe in her and Martinworth's innocence. Why! you can't look into that woman's eyes, and not feel convinced that she is all right. I defy you to do so."
"My dear fellow, it is just because she looks so uncommonly innocent and pure, and all that sort of thing, that she's probably as bad as they make 'em," replied Sir Ralph sententiously. "You are such a devilishly indulgent fellow, de Güldenfeldt. All the many years that I have known you, and all the time you were posted in London, I hardly ever heard you utter a word against a soul: especially if the individual discussed happened to be a woman. Yet heaven knows, in the course of a long and successful career you must have had plenty of knowledge of the fair sex and their peculiar little ways."