felt a good deal cheered. What was her
consternation, then, when the day of sailing came, and at the last
minute, on board the packet, her father declared he must wait; he could
not leave London yet for a week or two, but he could not let _them_ be
delayed; he would let St. Leger go to look after them, and he would
catch them up before they got to Venice. All this was said in a breath,
in a rush and hurry, at the moment of taking leave; the luggage was on
board, Rupert was looking after it, Mr. St. Leger's elegant figure was
just stepping across the gangway; and Mr. Copley kissed and shook hands
and was off, with a word to Lawrence as he passed, before Mrs. Copley
or Dolly could throw in more than an exclamation of dismay to stop him.
Stop him! one might as well stop a gust of wind. Dolly saw he had
planned it all; reckoned the minutes, got them off on purpose without
himself, and _with_ Mr. St. Leger. And here was Mr. St. Leger to be
spoken to; coming up with his assured step and his handsome, indolent
blue eyes, to address her mother. St. Leger was a nice fellow; he was
neither a fool nor a coxcomb; but the sight of him was very
disagreeable to Dolly just then. She turned away, as full of vexation
as she could hold, and went to Rupert's side, who was looking after the
luggage.

"Do you want to see your berth right away?" he asked her.

"My berth?" said Dolly.

"Well, yes; your cabin--state-room--whatever you call it--where you are
to sleep. You know which it is; do you know where it is? I always like
to get such things straightened out, first thing. Would you like to see
it?"

"Oh yes, please," said Dolly; and grasping one of the hand-bags she
turned away gladly from the deck. Anything for a little respite and
solitude, from Mr. St. Leger. Rupert found the place, stowed bags and
wraps and rugs conveniently away, and made Dolly as much at home as she
could be at five minutes' notice.

"How long will the passage take?" she asked.

"Well, if I knew what the weather would be, I would tell you. Shall you
be sick?"

"I don't know," said Dolly. "I believe I wish I may. Mr. Babbage, are
you a Christian?"

"Well, I ain't a heathen, anyhow," said he, laughing a little.

"No, but that isn't what I mean. Of course you are not a heathen. But I
mean--do you serve the Lord Jesus, and do you love Him?"

Dolly had it not in mind to make a confidant of her new squire; but in
the terrible confusion and trouble of her spiri