In that pellucid air the sky was a vivid ultramarine.

The ship's track was marked by a trail of phosphorescent fire.

Each revolution of the propeller drew from the ocean treasure-house opulent globes of golden light that danced and sparkled in the tumbling waters.

It was a night that pulsated with the romance and abandon of the south, a night when the heart might throb with unutterable longings, and the blood tingle in the veins under the stress of an emotion at once passionate and mystic.
Iris, spurred on by no stronger impulse than that of the sight-seer, though not wholly unaware of an element of adventurous shyness in her expectation of a _tete-a-tete_ with a good-looking young man of her own status, climbed to the bridge so speedily and noiselessly that Hozier did not know of her presence until he heard her dismayed cry: "Is _that_ the Southern Cross ?" [Illustration: "Is that the Southern Cross ?"] He turned quickly.
"You, Miss Yorke ?" he exclaimed, and not even her wonder at the insignificance of the stellar display of which she had heard so much could cloak the fact that Hozier was unprepared for her appearance.
"Of course, it is I--who else ?" she asked.

"Did not Captain Coke tell you to expect me ?" "No." "How odd! That is what he arranged.