. More? Or was it only
something other? Yes. It was something other. More or less.
Something as incredible as the fulfilment of an amazing and startling
dream in which he could take the world in his arms--all the suffering
world--not to possess its pathetic fairness but to console and cherish
its sorrow.

Anthony walked slowly to the ship and that night slept without dreams.

PART TWO, CHAPTER 5.

THE GREAT DE BARRAL.

Renovated certainly the saloon of the _Ferndale_ was to receive the
"strange woman." The mellowness of its old-fashioned, tarnished
decoration was gone. And Anthony looking round saw the glitter, the
gleams, the colour of new things, untried, unused, very bright--too
bright. The workmen had gone only last night; and the last piece of
work they did was the hanging of the heavy curtains which looped midway
the length of the saloon--divided it in two if released, cutting off the
after-end with its companion-way leading direct on the poop, from the
forepart with its outlet on the deck; making a privacy within a privacy,
as though Captain Anthony could not place obstacles enough between his
new happiness and the men who shared his life at sea. He inspected that
arrangement with an approving eye then made a particular visitation of
the whole, ending by opening a door which led into a large state-room
made of two knocked into one. It was very well furnished and had,
instead of the usual bed-place of such cabins, an elaborate swinging cot
of the latest pattern. Anthony tilted it a little by way of trial.
"The old man will be very comfortable in here," he said to himself, and
stepped back into the saloon closing the door gently. Then another
thought occurred to him obvious under the circumstances but strangely
enough presenting itself for the first time. "Jove! Won't he get a
shock," thought Roderick Anthony.

He went hastily on deck. "Mr Franklin, Mr Franklin."

The mate was not very far. "Oh! Here you are. Miss ... Mrs
Anthony'll be coming on board presently. Just give me a call when you
see the cab."

Then, without noticing the gloominess of the mate's countenance he went
in again. Not a friendly word, not a professional remark, or a small
joke, not as much as a simple and inane "fine day." Nothing. Just
turned about and went in.

We know that, when the moment came, he thought better of it and decided
to meet Flora's father in that privacy of the main cabin which he had
bee