ng the arrival of Red Cross trains from the front.

Leaning out of the window, he watched the motor-cars and ambulances
coming out from the station courtyard, while London's people, as they had
done from the beginning, welcomed the unknown wounded with waving
handkerchiefs and flowers, with hearts that wept and faces that bravely
smiled.

With a suppressed cry, Selwyn opened the door and leaped into the crowd.
He had seen her driving one of the ambulances, and he fought his way
furiously through the human mass to the open roadway. But it was
useless. The ambulance had disappeared.

Struggling back to the taxi, he re-entered it, and turning round, made
for Waterloo Bridge by way of the Embankment.

CHAPTER XIX.

EN VOYAGE.

From a sheltered position on the hurricane-deck, Austin Selwyn watched
the curtain of night descending on England's coast. Portsmouth, with
its thousand naval activities, was already lost to view off the ship's
stern; and the Isle of Wight was but a dark margin on the water's edge.

Not a light was to be seen on shore. Like an uninhabited island,
England lay in the mingled menace and protection of the sea, while
unseen eyes kept their endless vigil.

The vibration from the ship's engines told him she was gathering speed.
Impatient of the six days that must elapse before harbour could be
reached, he walked to the front of the deck and watched the officers on
the bridge peering into the darkness ahead.

When he retraced his steps he could no longer distinguish land. Two
searchlights playing on the surface of the water revealed a cruiser
steaming silently out to sea.

A feeble star appeared in the sky.

* * * * * *

Mid-ocean.

A clear winter sunlight touching the green, swirling water with strands
of yellow gold; a wind sweeping the ship's decks, blowing boisterously
down companion-ways and along the corridors; a few shimmering
snowflakes from an almost cloudless sky; everywhere the vastness of
ocean. And the ship buffeting its way towards the New World.

Mid-ocean.

* * * * * *

The City of New York.

Anchored down the bay just after sunset, Selwyn watched the great
metropolis as her form was vitalised with a million lights. From the
ship's side, it seemed to the eyes watching the birth of New York's
night that the buildings had come to the very water's edge to gaze into
its depths, and see their own refle