Michael Donovan.

In one of Seaton's visits to the _Proserpine_ he detected the mate and
the captain talking together and looking at him with unfriendly
eyes--scowling at him would hardly be too strong a word.

However, he was in no state of mind to care much how two animals in blue
jackets received his acts of self-martyrdom. He was there to do the last
kind offices of despairing love for the angel that had crossed his dark
path and illumined it for a moment, to leave it now forever.

At last the fatal evening came; her last in Sydney.

Then Seaton's fortitude, sustained no longer by the feverish stimulus of
doing kindly acts for her, began to give way, and he desponded deeply.

At nine in the evening he crept upon General Rolleston's lawn, where he
had first seen her. He sat down in sullen despair upon the very spot.

Then he came nearer the house. There was a lamp in the dining-room; he
looked in and saw her.

She was seated at her father's knee, looking up at him fondly; her hand
was in his; the tears were in their eyes; she had no mother; he no son;
they loved one another devotedly. This, their tender gesture, and their
sad silence, spoke volumes to any one that had known sorrow. Poor Seaton
sat down on the dewy grass outside and wept because she was weeping.

Her father sent her to bed early. Seaton watched, as he had often done
before, till her light went out; and then he flung himself on the wet