erman line of vessels.

En route from Holland to New York she spent two weeks with friends in
London, and on Regent Street replenished her wardrobe, enjoyed Irving
and Terry in their latest play, attended an exciting Cambridge-Oxford
boat-race on the Thames, and with a great crowd went wild with delight
at the English races at Epsom Downs.

Saturday at 9:40 A.M. at the Waterloo Station several friends saw
Christine off for America on the special train, the Eagle Express, of the
South Western Railway, which makes the journey of 79 miles to Southampton
in one hour and forty minutes.

At Southampton the passengers were transferred on the new express dock,
direct from the train to the steamers, which are berthed alongside. By
this route passengers escape exposure to weather on tenders and landing
stage, and avoid all delays at ports of call, and waiting for the tides
to cross the bar.

Promptly at 12 o'clock, hawsers and gangways vanishing, the great steamer
moved down the bay, the fertile Isle of Wight in sight. Officers made
note of the time as the Needles were passed, as the runs of the steamers
are taken between the Needles and Sandy Hook. It was a bright breezy
afternoon and after lunch the passengers lounged on the decks, or in
the smoke room; some inspected their rooms, some read the latest French
or English novel, and others in groups gossiped, or walked the decks to
sharpen appetite.

The second steward, of necessity a born diplomat, had succeeded in
convincing most who were at lunch that he had given them favored seats,
if not all at the Captain's table, then at the table of the first
officer, a handsome man, or at the table with the witty doctor.

Christine did not appear at lunch, as she was busy in her stateroom. She
had given careful instructions that one of her trunks should be sent at
once to her room. An hour before dinner there appeared on the promenade
deck a beautiful young woman dressed in black, who attracted attention
and no little comment. She wore a dress of Henrietta cloth, and cape
trimmed with black crepe and grosgrained ribbons in bows with long ends.
Her tiny hat with narrow band of white crepe was of the Marie Stuart
style; her gloves were undressed kid, her handkerchief had black border,
and her silk parasol was draped in black.

Hers was the same pretty face and blue eyes that had won Alfonso's heart.
She supposed him dead; her dress of mourning was not for him, but for her
mother, w