‘How could they help loving thee, Fanny? said Lovell, pressing her fondly in his arms and impressing a kiss upon her lips.
‘There, that will do,’ said she, gently unclasping his embrace, ‘you must not abate one iota in your respect or distance, William, while on deck, and before the people, or we may have another mutiny; be careful you address me as Captain Channing, don’t be forgetful.’
‘I’ll remember, trust me.’
The two then proceeded to the quarter-deck, Lovell paying the customary respect to his commanding officer.
‘Sail ho,’ shouted the look-out, with the long drawl peculiar to the hail.
‘Where away,’ promptly demanded the captain,
William Lovell could not disguise his nervousness lest Fanny should betray herself; now that he knew the secret other disguise he feared that it might be disclosed at any moment. But there was nothing wanting; she was perfect even in all the minutiæ of sea parlance.
‘Two points on the starboard bow,’ answered the look out.
Fanny taking a glass, coolly surveyed the stranger for several-minutes.
‘English, I think,’ she observed to Lovell, referring to the stranger.