Peter Mostyn\'s attack lasted a full twenty-four hours, but at seven the next evening he felt well enough to go down to dinner in the saloon.

That function had become a mere shadow of its former self. On the run to Cape Town the chairs round the long tables were generally filled, once the passengers had grown accustomed to life afloat and had regained their temporarily lost appetites.

Now, the saloon looked almost deserted. Captain Bullock was in his customary place at the head of the table, most of the officers not on duty were present—a mere handful all told. Of the passengers only eight remained. Of these, five were to be landed at Beira and taken on to their destinations by a "Bullard" boat. The remaining three were Mr. and Mrs. Shallop and Olive Baird.

Since Mrs. Shallop\'s encounter with the skipper she had fought shy of the saloon when the Old Man was present, and was in the habit of having her evening meal in the seclusion of her cabin. Although this arrangement was contrary to the Company\'s rules and regulations Captain Bullock winked at it; the rest of the saloon congratulated themselves, and even Shallop, away from the disturbing influence of his wife\'s presence, seemed a different man. In fact, on several occasions his dry and somewhat humorous remarks set everyone laughing.

The temporary retirement of Mrs. Shallop had given Olive much more leisure. At first the selfish woman had tried her level best to compel the girl to share her self-imposed seclusion, but Olive had firmly declined to submit. She had already endured considerable discomfort on her employer\'s behalf, and had borne the almost continuous "nagging" without a murmur; but now the breaking-strain had been exceeded, and the bullying woman had to admit defeat.

Consequently Peter saw Olive a good deal. They were firm pals. There was nothing sloppishly sentimental about the girl. She was merely a jolly little person emerging from the temporary cloud of reserve caused by the depressing influence of the naval captain\'s daughter.

She had been fully initiated into the mysteries of the wireless-room; she had taken equal interest in the complicated machinery of the engine-room; and, since leaving Cape Town, Captain Bullock had given her permission to go on the bridge whenever she wished. She had coaxed Anstey into showing her how to "shoot the sun" and to use the Nautical Almanac in order to work out the ship\'s position. Even the secuni in the wheelhouse so far forgot his duty as to allow the Missie Sahib to take the wheel.

But undoubtedly her interest was keenest in sailing. Both Preston and Anstey had promised to give her a run in one of the West Barbican\'s sailing-boats while the ship was at Durban. This promise they severally performed, but to a certain extent the beat to windward and the run home on the spacious but shallow water of the harbour was a disappointment to Olive—since neither man had offered to let her take the tiller.

Dinner over—Peter had very little appetite—Olive Baird went on deck, and somehow, whether by accident or design, Mostyn found her standing on the starboard side of the promenade-deck, gazing at the moon as it rose apparently out of the Indian Ocean.

"What a topping evening, Mr. Mostyn," observed the girl. "Just fine for a sail."

She gave a glance at one of the quarter-boats, an eighteen-foot gig fitted with a centre-board.

"\'Fraid it can\'t be done," remarked Peter, with a laugh. "Stopping vessels in mid-ocean for the purpose of giving lady passengers a spin in one of the boats isn\'t usual. Might work it when we arrive at Bulonga. You\'re fond of sailing, I notice."

"I love it," declared the girl enthusiastically. "Do you?"

"Yes, rather," agreed Peter; "so long as there\'s not too much of it."

"There never could be too much as far as I am concerned," protested Olive. "What do you mean by too much?"

"Well, for instance, a two-hundred mile run in a boat of about that size," replied the Wireless Officer, indicating the............