was reached, Mademoiselle lifted her bag and walked on board
the steamer with the air of a martyr marching to the stake, and, to
Pixie's dismay, laid herself down at once with an utter disregard of the
tables spread out in the saloon. She waited in what patience she could
command until they were well on their way and the preparations for the
evening meal grew more advanced, and then it was impossible to remain
silent any longer.

"Would ye not be taking something to warm ye, Mademoiselle?" she
inquired anxiously. "There's a lovely smell of cooking--two smells.
One of them is cabbage, and the other smells like gravy spilt in the
oven. Doesn't it make you hungry, that nice greasy smell?"

But Mademoiselle only groaned and bade her eat a biscuit and be silent;
so for mere occupation's sake the wisest thing seemed to be to go to
sleep, which she proceeded to do with extraordinary quickness. Such an
amount of groanings and clanking of chains mingled with her dreams that
they naturally took the shape of confinement within prison walls, where
she suffered many and wonderful adventures, and from which she was on
the point of escaping under the most romantic circumstances when she was
seized in the grasp of the jailer, as she at first supposed, but it
turned out to be Mademoiselle herself--such a haggard, dishevelled
Mademoiselle!--who bade her get up and put on her hat, for the sea was
crossed at last, and they were anchored at the quay at Dublin. Pixie
felt as if roused in the middle of the night, and altogether it was a
most dejected-looking couple who went shivering across the gangway in
the pouring rain and made their way to the train for the third and last
stage of the journey. Neither spoke, but just lay prone against the
cushions of the railway carriage, so much asleep as to be uncomfortably
aware that they were awake, so much awake as to long hopelessly for
sleep. Mademoiselle determined drearily to send for her aged father,
and spend the rest of her life in enforced exile on this grey, rain-
swept island, since never, never again could she summon up courage to
cross that dreadful sea, and the night seemed half over when Bally
William was reached at last.

The station clock was pointing to eleven, and a broken-down fly was
waiting to convey the travellers to their destination. In the dim light
the surroundings looked both poor and squalid, but porter and flyman
vied with one another in a welcome so warm that i