ssed
and sinking, driven before a tropical cyclone; when the sun shone, she
fancied it sailing gayly into port with Simeon restored to health,
expecting to find her as he left her--the willing slave, the careful
housewife--and she shivered and went pale at the thought; and then in
a revulsion of feeling she saw him dying, and she was ready to cast
herself at his feet, and tell him all--how she had tried to do right,
how she had struggled against her love for Stephen. Perhaps he would
have mercy upon her and let her go away, all by herself, to wrestle
with her heart.

She couldn't eat; she couldn't sleep. She grew so wan and thin she was
like a ghost of her old self.

Her mother said:

"My dear, you must stop fretting. I am sure, under the care of that
clever young doctor Mr. French took down, and with the comforts of the
yacht, your husband will be quite himself by the time he gets home."

And her father added:

"You must not be so impatient, Deena; it is mighty nasty sailing
through West Indian waters, and a boat of that size doesn't carry
enough fuel for a prolonged voyage; they will have to stop for coal
somewhere on their way up."

She was growing irritable under her dread. Like Elisha, she longed to
silence them with the answer:

"I know it; hold ye your peace."

The middle of June had passed, the fourth week of the voyage had
begun, and now any day, any hour, might bring news. Deena's anxiety
had made such inroads into her health that her father took alarm and
called in her old friend Dr. Hassan, and he, wise man, gave her a
sedative and ordered her to bed, though the afternoon was still young.

It was the first long sleep she had had for weeks, and the refreshment
came at the time of her direst need, for at daybreak the summons
roused her. She waked with a beating heart; wheels stopped in the
street, her gate clicked, there were footsteps coming up her
path--bold, hurried steps; they reached the veranda--the bell pealed.

She sprang from her bed, huddling her dressing gown round her as she
ran, and, slipping back the heavy, old-fashioned bolts of the front
door, she stood face to face with Stephen.

If she were pale, he was paler; his blood seemed turned to ice that
summer morning.

"The yacht is at Wolfshead," he said. "How soon can you be ready? We
must go by rail--I have a special waiting for you."

A glow from the first blush of day caught her as she stood in the
frame of the doorway. She wa