t she might be the _Flying Cloud_.
He had received a hastily-scribbled line or two from Ned--forwarded by
means of the shore-boat, which had taken off the passengers' luggage at
Gravesend--which had made him acquainted with the day and hour of the
ship's sailing; and his long experience and intimate acquaintance with
the navigation of the Channel, aided by his habitual observation of the
weather, enabled him to follow the subsequent movements of the _Flying
Cloud_ almost as unerringly as though his eye had been on her the whole
time. In one particular only had his calculations been inaccurate, and
that was in the _speed_ of the ship; he had not reckoned on her being
either so fast or so weatherly as she had proved to be, and his
reckoning located her as being at that moment within sight of but to the
eastward of the Wight. When, however, he saw a large ship, loaded, and
evidently by the course she was steering, bound out of the channel, and
when he further noted the clean, white, new appearance of the stranger's
canvas, the peculiar painting of her hull, and the very marked
similarity of appearance which she bore to the picture at that moment
hanging in the place of honour on the walls of his snug little parlour,
he was quite prepared to admit a possible error in his calculations
sufficient to account for the appearance of the ship where she actually
was; and when he saw the colours hoisted, he had, of course, no further
doubt upon the matter. The ship, it is true, was heading so obliquely
towards him that he could only see the house-flag at her main-skysail-
mast-head; but that was quite sufficient. The broad snow-white field,
the blue border and cross, and the large red B in the centre, were
plainly distinguishable through his telescope; and turning to his
daughter he said, with just a faint tremor of excitement in his voice:

"Eva, do you see that ship reaching down under the east land, yonder?"

"The one you have been watching so intently, father? Yes, I see her,"
was the reply. "What a noble object she looks, with her white canvas
gleaming in the sun! It is not often that we see such large ships as
that so close in with the land, is it? I wonder where she is going!"

"She is bound to Melbourne. She is called the _Flying Cloud_, and she
has a young gentleman named Edward Damerell on board her, who, I'll be
bound, is at this moment intently looking in this direction," answered
the old gentleman decisively.