"What is this rate of sailing?"
"About nine knots, sir."
"There it is!" cried I, "and every hour brings New Zealand nearer and makes England more distant."
"Do not talk of New Zealand," exclaimed Grace. "What sort of ships are to be met here?" she added, addressing the second mate.
"All sorts, Miss—, I beg your pardon, I mean ma'am," he answered; "ocean tramps in the main, but a mail liner here and there."
"What are your instructions?" I began, but at that instant I caught sight of old Parsons rising through the hatch with a sextant in his hand. "Oh, here is the captain coming to take sights," said I; "we must arrive at an understanding with him. I believe he would like to keep us on board as an inducement to others to get married."
He smiled with an air of importance as we advanced, and I imagined in him an effort to give himself the airs of a father, or of a father-in-law. His little damp, deep-sunk eyes, so far as they could express any species of emotion, seemed to survey us with benignity and pride as though he would say, "That couple is my work, ladies and gentlemen. I made them one. Who's next?"
"When you have finished with your sextant, captain," I exclaimed, "I should like a few words with you."
"Pray talk away," he answered, putting the instrument to his eye.
"What about our getting home?"