here is some fun."

"I must go over to the States very soon," Mr. Lind said.

"Papa!"

"The worst of it is," her father said, without heeding that exclamation
of protest, "that I have so much to do that can only be done by word of
mouth."

"I wish I could take the message for you," Brand said, lightly. "When
the weather looks decent, I very often take a run across to New York,
put up for a few days at the Brevoort House, and take the next ship
home. It is very enjoyable, especially if you know the officers. Then
the bagman--I have acquired a positive love for the bagman."

"The what?" said Natalie.

"The bagman. The 'commy' his friends call him. The commercial traveller,
don't you know? He is a most capital fellow--full of life and fun,
desperately facetious, delighting in practical jokes: altogether a
wonderful creature. You begin to think you are in another
generation--before England became melancholy--the generation, for
example, that roared over the adventures of Tom and Jerry."

Natalie did not know who Tom and Jerry were; but that was of little
consequence; for at this moment they began to descry "the white
chalk-line beyond the sea"--the white line of the English coast. And
they went on chatting cheerfully; and the sunlight flashed its diamonds
on the blue waters around them, and the white chalk cliffs became more
distinct.

"And yet it seems so heartless for one to be going back to idleness,"
Natalie Lind said, absently. "Papa works as hard in England as anywhere
else; but what can I do? To think of one going back to peaceful days,
and comfort, and pleasant friends, when others have to go through such
misery, and to fight against such persecution! When Vjera Sassulitch
offered me her hand--"

She stopped abruptly, with a quick, frightened look, first at George
Brand, then at her father.

"You need not hesitate, Natalie," her father said, calmly. "Mr. Brand
has given me his word of honor he will reveal nothing he may hear from
us."

"I do not think you need be afraid," said Brand; but all the same he was
conscious of a keen pang of mortification. He, too, had noticed that
quick look of fright and distrust. What did it mean, then? "_You are
beside us, you are near to us; but you are not of us, you are not with
us._"

He was silent, and she was silent too. She seemed ashamed of her
indiscretion, and would say nothing further about Vjera Sassulitch.

"Don't imagine, Mr. Brand," said her father, to