CHAPTER XXVIII.
Far away, that same moon was watching another scene--a ship on the Southern sea throbbing its way to New York.
It was a steamer just out of Rio, its drawing rooms and upper decks filled with tourists doubly happy because they were going home.
On the steerage deck below, in the apron of a kitchen worker, a man was standing with his elbows on the rail--an uncertain figure in the moonlight.

Once when he turned to look at the deck above, a lamp shone upon him.

If you had been there you would have seen that while a beard covered much of his face, his cheeks were wasted and his eyes looked as though he needed rest.
He turned his glance out over the sea again, looking now to the north star and now to the roadway of ripples that led to the moon.
"I wonder if Rosa's asleep," he thought.

"Eleven o'clock.

She ought to be.