commander," he replied, rather mechanically than otherwise, as he turned
his glance seaward.

"So soon? I had hoped you were to favor us with a longer stay," said she
mother.

The officer looked towards the daughter, as though he wished it had been
her that had expressed such a desire. But she still gazed at the distant
ship, and he saw no change in her handsome features.

"We officers are not masters of our own time, madam, and can rarely
consult our own wishes as to a cruising ground; but I frankly own that
it was something more than mere accident which brought me this time to
Calcutta."

As he said this, his eyes again wandered towards her daughter's face,
but it was still cold, impassive and beautiful as before, while she
gazed on that distant sea. He paused for a moment more, almost trembling
with suppressed emotions of disappointment, chagrin and anger, and
seemed at a loss what to say further; he felt constrained, and wished
that he might have seen the daughter for a moment more alone.

"Farewell is an unpleasant word to say, ladies," he said, at last, still
controlling his feelings with a masterly effort. Then offerings a hand
to the mother, he bowed respectfully and said "Good-by;" and to her, who
now turned with evident feeling evinced in her lovely face at the idea
of a long parting, he offered his hand, which was frankly pressed, while
he said: "I carry away a heavy heart to sea with me, Miss Huntington;
could it be weighed, it would overballast yonder ship."