r step-daughter, whom she
persecuted with her morbid jealousy.

Naturally enough, Isabel and Simon exchanged a mutual promise. And,
naturally enough, on coming into collision with Lord Bakefield's
implacable will and his wife's hatred, they arrived at the only
possible solution, that of running away. This was proposed without
heroic phrases and adopted without any painful struggle or reluctance.
Each formed a decision in perfect liberty. To themselves their action
appeared extremely simple. Loyally determined to prolong their
engagement until the moment when all obstacles would be smoothed away,
they faced the future like travellers turning to a radiant and
hospitable country.

In the open Channel a choppy sea was beginning to rise before a steady
light breeze. In the west the clouds were mustering in battle array,
but they were distant enough to promise a calm passage in glorious
sunshine. Indifferent to the assault of the waves, the vessel sped
straight for her port, as though no power existed which could have
turned her aside from her strict course.

Isabel and Simon were seated on one of the benches on the after deck.
The girl had taken off her cloak and hat and offered to the wind her
arms and shoulders, protected only by a cambric blouse. Nothing more
beautiful could be imagined than the play of the sunlight on the gold
of her hair. Though grave and dreamy, she was radiant with youth and
happiness. Simon gazed at her in an ecstasy of admiration:

"You don't regret anything, Isabel?" he whispered.

"No!"

"You're not frightened?"

"Why should I be, with you? There is nothing to threaten us."

Simon pointed to the sea:

"That will, perhaps."

"No!"

He told her of his conversation with Lord Bakefield on the previous
day and of the three conditions upon which they had agreed. She was
amused, and asked him:

"May I too lay down a condition?"

"What condition, Isabel?"

"Fidelity," she replied, gravely. "Absolute fidelity. No lapses! I
could never forgive anything of that sort."

He kissed her hand and said:

"There is no love without fidelity. I love you."

There were few people around them, for the panic had affected mainly
the first-class passengers. But, apart from the two lovers, all those
who had persisted in crossing betrayed by some sign their secret
uneasiness or their alarm. On the right were two old, very old
clergymen, accompanied by a third, a good deal younger. These three
remaine