uary.

II

After lying in bed about an hour, Frederick arose, knocked a hole
in the ice crust in the pitcher, washed himself, and in a fever of
restlessness descended again to the lower rooms of the little hotel.
In the reading-room sat a pretty young Englishwoman and a German Jewish
merchant, not so pretty and not so young. The dreariness of waiting
produced sociability. Frederick and the German entered into a
conversation. The German informed Frederick that he had lived in the
United States and was returning by the _Roland_.

The air was grey, the room cold, the young lady impatiently paced up
and down in front of the fireplace, where there was no fire, and the
conversation of the new acquaintances dwindled into monosyllables.

The condition of the unhappy lover, as a rule, is concealed from the
persons he meets, or unintelligible to them. In either case it is
ridiculous. A man in love is alternately transported and tormented by
brilliant and gloomy illusions. In spite of the cold, cutting wind, the
young fool of love was driven restlessly out to roam the streets and
alleys of the port. He thought of what an embarrassing position he had
been in when the Jewish merchant had insinuatingly inquired for the
purpose of his journey. In his effort not to reveal the secret motive of
his ocean crossing, Frederick had stammered and stuttered and given some
sort of a vague reply. He decided that from now on, in answer to
intrusive questioners, he would say he was going to America to see
Niagara Falls, Yellowstone Park, and visit an old collegemate of his,
also a physician.

During the silent meal in the hotel, the news came that the _Roland_
probably would reach the Needles at five o'clock, two hours earlier than
was expected. Frederick took his coffee and smoked some Simon Arzt
cigarettes with the German, who at the same time tried to do some
business in his trade, which was ready-made clothing. The two men,
carrying their luggage, then went to the tender together.

Here they had an uncomfortable hour's wait, while the low smoke-stack
belched black vapours into the dirty drab mist that lay oppressively
upon everything about the harbour. From time to time the sound of the
shovelling of coal arose from the engine-room. One at a time five or six
passengers came on board, porters carrying their luggage. The saloon was
nothing more than a glass case on deck, inside of which, below the
windows, a bench upholstered in r