"It is indeed Mistress Dorothy--out here alone?
'Twas my thought you were safely in your cabin long since.

But--prithee--I mistake; you are not alone." He paused, slightly irresolute, staring forward beyond her at my dimmer outline, quite uncertain who I might be, yet already suspicious.
"I was preparing to go in," she answered, ignoring his latter words.
"The night already looks stormy." "But your friend ?" The tone in which he spoke was insistent, almost insolent in its demand, and she hesitated no longer in meeting the challenge.
"Your pardon, I am sure--Lieutenant Sanchez, this gentleman is Captain Geoffry Carlyle." He stood there stiff and straight against the background of light, one hand in affected carelessness caressing the end of a waxed moustache.
His face was in shadow, yet I was quite aware of the flash of his eyes.
"Ah, indeed--some passenger I have not chanced to observe before ?" "A prisoner," she returned distinctly.

"You may perhaps remember my uncle pointed him out to us when he first came aboard." "And you have been out here alone, talking with the fellow ?" "Certainly--why not ?" "Why, the man is a felon, convicted of crime, sentenced to deportation." "It is not necessary that we discuss this, sir," she interposed, rather proudly, "as my personal conduct is not a matter for your criticism.

I shall retire now.

No; thank you, you need not come." He stopped still, staring blankly after her as she vanished; then wheeled about to vent his anger on me.
"Carlyle, hey!" he exclaimed sneeringly.