'This is bigger than anything I could have secured for you on board a steamer,' said my father.
My old nurse's eyes were upon me whilst I gazed around. They had made as elegant a little bedroom of the place as could possibly be manufactured on board a plain, homely sailing ship. Every convenience was here, and the furniture was handsome. They had put pink silk curtains to my bunk which was single—that is, the upper shelf was removed so that I should have the upper deck clear above me when I pillowed my head. They had prettily decorated with drapery a large oval glass nailed to the bulkhead: this mirror caught the light trembling off the river, and brimming through the porthole and filled the interior with a radiance of its own as though it had been a lamp. The carpet was thick and rich; the armchair low and soft. A writing table stood in the corner, and on it was a lovely bouquet; the berth was rich with the smell of those delicious flowers; the atmosphere sweet as a breeze in a garden of roses. It was my lover's gift, sent on board the ship just before she left the docks, but I did not know this until after I had said good-bye to him.
'It is as comfortable as your bedroom at home, Marie,' said my father.
'I find your thoughtful heart everywhere here, nurse,' said I.
'We have all done our best, and our best shall go on being done,' she answered, smiling, and meeting my father's gaze she dropped him one of her little old-world curtseys.
'I don't think you'll find anything missing, sir,' said Captain Burke, 'from Mr. Owen's medicine chest down to the smallest case of goodies in the lazarette.'
'My daughter is in kind hands. I am satisfied,' said my father, and he came to me and put his arm round my neck.
Captain Burke, saying he was needed on deck, went out. Mrs. Burke and Mr. Owen followed; my father stepped into the state-room that I might be alone with my lover.
He caught me quickly to his heart and kissed me again and again with a passion of grief and love. We had exchanged our vows before, over and over. We could but kiss and whisper hopes of a sweet meeting, of a lasting reunion by-and-by. It was like a parting between a young bride and bridegroom, but with a dreadful significance going into it out of my health and out of the thought of the perils of the sea. Indeed, a sadness as of death itself was in that parting, and I know Archie felt that, as I did, when he released me and stood a moment looking into my white face.
When we went into the cabin I found my father earnestly conversing with Mrs. Burke. He was asking questions about my luggage and effects, and impressing certain things upon her memory. A few minutes later Captain Burke came down the companion-steps, and, halting before he reached the bottom, exclaimed: