father, whose mind was too much occupied with
his own cares to bestow much attention on strangers. Indeed, so little
of either interest or curiosity did his fellow travellers excite in him
that although he assisted them to ascend the ship's side, he made no
effort to see their faces; nor did he address to them a single word.
They who cross the narrow strait nowadays, with all the speed of a
modern mail-steamer, can scarcely credit how much of actual danger
the passage once involved. The communication with the Continent was
frequently suspended for several days together; and it was no unusual
occurrence to hear of three or even four mails being due from France.
So great was the storm on the occasion I refer to that it was full two
hours before the vessel could get clear of the port; and even then, with
a mainsail closely reefed, and a mere fragment of a foresail, the utmost
she could do was to keep the sea. An old and worthless craft, she was
ill-suited to such a service; and now, at each stroke of the waves, some
bulwark would be washed away, some spar broken, or part of the rigging
torn in shreds. The frail timbers creaked and groaned with the working,
and already, from the strain, leaks had burst open in many places, and
half the crew were at the pumps. My father, who kept the deck without
quitting it, saw that the danger was great, and, not improbably, now
condemned his own rashness when it was too late. Too proud, however,
to confess his shame, he walked hurriedly up and down the poop, only
stopping to hold on at those moments when some tremendous lurch almost
laid the craft under. In one of these it was that he chanced to look
down through the cabin grating, and there beheld an old lady, at prayer,
on her knees; her hands held a crucifix before her, and her upturned
eyes were full of deep devotion. The lamp which swung to and fro above
her head threw a passing light upon her features, and showed that she
must once have been strikingly handsome, while even yet the traces were
those that bespoke birth and condition. My father in vain sought for her
companion, and while he bent down over the grating to look, the captain
came up to his side.

"The poor Duchess is terribly frightened," said he, with an attempt at a
smile which only half succeeded.

"How do you call her?" asked my father.

"La Duchesse de Sargance, a celebrated court beauty some forty years
ago. She has been always attached to the Duchess of Orleans; o