she considered him gravely with her little hands folded.

Waring, man of the world,--Waring, who had been, under fire,--Waring,
the impassive,--Waring,--the unflinching,--turned from this scrutiny.

Supper was eaten at one end of the long table; the dishes, tablecloth,
and napkins were marked with an anchor, the food simple but well
cooked.

'Fish, of course, and some common supplies I can understand,' said the
visitor; 'but how do you obtain flour like this, or sugar?'

'Father brings them,' said Silver, 'and keeps them locked in his
storeroom. Brown sugar we have always, but white not always, and I
like it so much! Don't you?'

'No; I care nothing for it,' said Waring, remembering the few lumps
and the little white teeth.

The old negress waited, and peered at the visitor out of her small
bright eyes; every time Silver spoke to her, she broke into a radiance
of smiles and nods, but said nothing.

'She lost her voice some years ago,' explained the little mistress
when the black had gone out for more coffee; 'and now she seems to
have forgotten how to form words, although she understands us.'

Lorez returned, and, after refilling Waring's cup, placed something
shyly beside his plate, and withdrew into the shadow. 'What is it?'
said the young man, examining the carefully folded parcel.