Miss Denison was our only lady, and her step-father, with whom she was travelling, was the one man of distinction on board.

He was a Portuguese of sixty or thereabouts, Senhor Joaquin Santos by name; at first it was incredible to me that he had no title, so noble was his bearing; but very soon I realized that he was one of those to whom adventitious honors can add no lustre.

He treated Miss Denison as no parent ever treated a child, with a gallantry and a courtliness quite beautiful to watch, and not a little touching in the light of the circumstances under which they were travelling together.

The girl had gone straight from school to her step-father's estate on the Zambesi, where, a few months later, her mother had died of the malaria.

Unable to endure the place after his wife's death, Senhor Santos had taken ship to Victoria, there to seek fresh fortune with results as indifferent as my own.