iny bubbles, where the vessel's
course had been. Gradually she became aware through her abstraction of a
greater stir and buzz of conversation on the deck behind her; she
turned, and seeing everybody looking in one direction, rose and looked
too. A lady standing beside her said,

"It is the Cunard steamer for New York. We think there are some friends
of ours on board, but I am afraid we shall not pass near enough to find
out."

"Oh, how I wish we could!" Lucia answered, now thoroughly roused, for
the idea that Maurice also might be on board suddenly flashed into her
mind.

She leaned forward over the railing of the deck, and caught sight of the
'India' coming quickly in the opposite direction, and could even
distinguish the black mass of her passengers assembled like those of the
'Atalanta' to watch the passing vessel. But that was all. Telescopes and
even opera-glasses were being handed from one to another, but she was
too shy to ask for the loan of one, though she longed for it, just for a
moment. Certainly it would have been useless. At that very time Maurice,
standing on the 'India's' deck, was straining his eyes to catch but one
glimpse of her, and all in vain. Fate had decided that they were to pass
each other unseen.

But this little incident made Lucia sadder and more dreamy--more unlike
herself--than before. The voyage was utterly monotonous. In spite of the
season, the weather was calm and generally fine; and they made good
progress. The days when an unbroken expanse of sea lay round them were
not many, and on the second Sunday afternoon land was already in sight.
That day was unusually mild. Mrs. Costello and Lucia came up together
about two o'clock, and, after walking up and down for some time, they
sat down to watch the distant misty line which they might have thought a
cloud on the horizon, but which was gradually growing nearer and more
distinct.

While they sat, a single bird came flying from the land. Its wings
gleamed like silver in the sunlight, and as it came, flying now higher,
now lower, but always towards the ship, they saw that it was no
sea-bird, but a white pigeon--pure white, without spot or tinge of
colour, like the glittering snow of Canada. It came quite near--it flew
slowly and gracefully round the ship--two or three times, it circled
round and round, and at last alighted on the rigging. There it rested,
till, as the sunlight quite faded away and the distant line of land
disappeared