became impossible to rest indoors, with the trade-winds calling,
and the passengers spent long, lazy hours basking in the breath of
the tropics and grudging the pleasure of which sleep deprived
them.

It was the last night of the voyage, and the thrill of approaching
land was felt by all. As usual, the monotony of the first day or
two had given way to an idle contentment and a vague regret at
leaving the ship and severing the ties so newly made. Home,
instead of looming close and overshadowing, had become a memory
rather indistinct and blurred, clouded by the proximity of the new
and unknown.

Kirk Anthony acknowledged to a reluctant enjoyment of the change
and found himself less eager to go back. As he paced the deck
after dinner he felt a lurking desire to defer his return until he
had absorbed something more of this warmth and languor; he even
reflected that he might welcome a stay of some length in the
tropics if it were not for the fact that he had so much to do.

Mrs. Cortlandt joined him as usual, and they did a mile around the
promenade, chatting idly of many things. The evening was too
glorious to permit of early retiring, and a late hour found them
leaning over the rail, side by side, while Anthony bewailed the
fact that he knew nothing of the country just beyond the dark
horizon ahead of them.

"You are quite right," his companion agreed. "You will miss its
best flavor if you don't know the history back of it. For
instance, we are now on the Spanish Main, the traditional home of