d
saved her life.

"And where are we going now?"

"To Southampton, I think. But we will return if you wish it."

"To the man who tried to take my life? Ah, no, mother! Never again in
this world to him! Call Mr. Parmalee."

"My dear, you must not talk so much; you are not able."

"Call Mr. Parmalee."

Mrs. Denover obeyed.

The artist presented himself promptly, quite overjoyed.

"Why, now," said Mr. Parmalee, "I'd rather see this than have a
thousand dollars down. Why, you look as spry almost as ever. How do
you feel?"

"You have been very good to me and my mother. Be good until the end.
If I die, bury me where he will never hear of my death nor look upon my
grave. If I live, take me back to New York--I have friends there--and
don't let him know whether I am living or dead."

"I'll do it! It's a go! I owe him one for that kicking, and, by Jove!
here's a chance to pay him. Jest you keep up heart and get well, and
we'll take you to New York in the 'Angelina Dobbs,' and nobody be the
wiser."

Mr. Parmalee kept his word. They lay aboard the vessel while loading
at Southampton, and a surgeon was in daily attendance upon the sick
girl.

"You fetch her round," said Mr. Parmalee. "She's the skipper's only
daughter--this 'ere craft, the 'Angelina Dobbs,' is named after
her--and he'll foot the bill like a lud."

The surgeon did his best, and was liberally paid out of the three
hundred pounds which Mrs. Denover had found in the bosom of Harriet's
dress. But for days and weeks she lay very ill--ill unto
death--delirious, senseless. Then the fever yielded, and death-like
weakness ensued.

This, too, passed; and by the time the "Angelina" reached New York, the
poor girl was able to saunter up and down the deck, and drink in the
life-giving sea air.

Thus, while fruitless search was being made for G. W. Parmalee
throughout London--while detectives examined every passenger who sailed
in the emigrant ships--he was safely skimming the Atlantic in Captain
Dobb's cockleshell.

To do him justice, he never thought--and no more did Harriet--of what
might follow her disappearance. The baronet would leave the country,
they both imagined, and her fate would remain forever a mystery.

So the supposed dead bride reached New York in safety, and that body
washed ashore and identified by Sybilla Silver, to suit her own ends,
was some nameless unfortunate.

On the pier in New York Mr. Parmalee and Lady Kingslan