ing conviction that he must come before she
left! That she had done her utmost to prevent his coming had nothing to
do with the case. Surely, when she had so sternly followed the dictates
of reason, there was all the more need for some good fairy to weave a
miracle which should upset her plans. Something must happen!
Something! At sweet-and-twenty it is so difficult to believe in the
irrevocable!

The journey to London was alive with memories. In this corner she had
sat watching Guest's face, listening to his voice as he told the story
of his life. At this landscape they had looked together, admiring, and
comparing tastes and impressions. At Paddington, Mrs Moffatt had stood
in waiting upon the platform. Cornelia was thankful to be safe inside
the boat-mail, away from the pressing memories. Here the atmosphere was
of home. Eye and ear caught on every side the familiar accent, the
familiar phraseology; the familiar tilt of the hat, and squaring of
shoulder. The passenger list included more than one well-known name,
and once afloat she was sure of companionship. She settled down in her
corner, with a sigh of relief, as of one who has reached a haven after
struggling in deep waters. This was a foretaste of home! These people
were her own kindred; their ways were her ways, their thoughts her
thoughts. For the first time since her arrival on English soil she felt
the rest of being in perfect accord with her surroundings. With
Cornelia America was a passion; life away from her native land was only
half a life.

Aboard the great steamer the passengers were rushing to and fro,
searching for their state-rooms, and, when found, depositing their
impedimenta on the tops of the narrow white bunks.

Cornelia walked to the quietest corner of the deck, dropped her bag on a
seat, and leant idly over the rail. She was in no hurry to go below,
and held instinctively aloof from the groups of fellow-passengers and
their friends. She was alone, and her heart was sad.

Someone walking quickly along the deck caught sight of the solitary
figure in the trim, dark-blue dress, and recognised its outline before a
turn of the head revealed the glorious, flaming hair. Someone with a
grim face, pale beneath his tan, with haggard lines about the eyes and
mouth; a man whose looks betrayed the fact that he had been awake all
night, face to face with calamity. He walked straight to the girl's
side, and laid his hand upon her arm.