Among the others that are gathered here and there on her broad decks, on
this lovely glorious afternoon, we are compelled to notice the graceful,
slender form, of a young girl, who sits a little away from the others,
with her head leaning on her folded hands, and her sad eyes resting on
the troubled waters in a fixed, but vacant stare, she is thinking, it is
evident, and thinking deeply, there is not a muscle moving in her
handsome face, her lips are set, her chin is slightly raised, the loose
locks are blowing with the wind now and then from off her brow, but her
eyes ever seek the deepest depth of the green blue sea. She might be a
perfect statue, only for the gentle heaving of her breast, that rises
and falls in little sighs.

Every one has noticed her, but none would intrude upon her in this
reverie, that seems to be her normal state, her face has assumed that
expression of intense emotion that could fascinate the most unwilling
victim, and indeed they are very few who are not willing to pay a
tribute at that shrine, while she in her unconsciousness, is living the
long sunny hours, down in the bottomless sea, trying to penetrate it
with the eyes of her soul, trying to fathom the fathomless, to
understand the mysterious, and to shape into existence the uncreated,
these are the strange things that rivet the gaze of Honor Edgeworth on
the spray of the billows below. At last she starts up, as if in broken
slumber, and turns suddenly 'round.

Two heavy hands have been laid on her slender shoulders, two eyes full
of glowing admiration are turned upon her, and Henry Rayne, in a low,
loving voice says in her ear:

"Come back to the deck of the 'Parisian' Honor for a little while, you
have been down with the 'whales and little fishes' long enough now."