Britton shook himself out of a wild dream, slowly fastened his shirt-sleeve and donned his coat.
"We will go below," he said, taking her arm and guiding her down the companionway. The stewardess met them in the passage and led the way to the stateroom she had prepared, disappearing therein.
"Good-night," she said, extending both hands. "I haven't found much opportunity to thank you. To-morrow I shall tell you more."
Britton took her fingers, and the mad blood leaped in his veins again.
"To-morrow," he cried gladly. "Ah! yes, there are many to-morrows, for you stay at Algiers."
"Many to-morrows!" she exclaimed with a happy laugh, as she turned into the stateroom. "That is a sweet way of putting it. Many to-morrows!–I like that idea."
CHAPTER II.
"It's hell,–isn't it, Trascott?" asked Ainsworth, dismally.
"My dear fellow," protested the shocked curate, "such liberty of expression, to put it mildly–"
"Fudge!" interrupted his friend. "You divines all agree as to the existence of an infernal region. Why shouldn't I introduce a comparison if I choose? If you don't like its rugged exterior you can at least appreciate the sentiment. It's hell–isn't it?"