"Mercy, Lord Tennington, you haven't even given us an opportunity to
thank you, much less decide whether we shall be able to accept your
generous invitation," said Mrs. Strong.

"Why, of course you'll come," responded Tennington. "We'll make as
good time as any passenger boat, and you'll be fully as comfortable;
and, anyway, we all want you, and won't take no for an answer."

And so it was settled that they should sail the following Monday.

Two days out the girls were sitting in Hazel's cabin, looking at some
prints she had had finished in Cape Town. They represented all the
pictures she had taken since she had left America, and the girls were
both engrossed in them, Jane asking many questions, and Hazel keeping
up a perfect torrent of comment and explanation of the various scenes
and people.

"And here," she said suddenly, "here's a man you know. Poor fellow, I
have so often intended asking you about him, but I never have been able
to think of it when we were together." She was holding the little print
so that Jane did not see the face of the man it portrayed.

"His name was John Caldwell," continued Hazel. "Do you recall him? He
said that he met you in America. He is an Englishman."

"I do not recollect the name," replied Jane. "Let me see the picture."
"The poor fellow was lost overboard on our trip down the coast," she
said, as she handed the print to Jane.

"Lost over--Why, Hazel, Hazel--don't tell me that he is dead--drowned
at sea! Hazel! Why don't you say that you are joking!" And before the
astonished Miss Strong could catch her Jane Porter had slipped to the
floor in a swoon.

After Hazel had restored her chum to consciousness she sat looking at
her for a long time before either spoke.

"I did not know, Jane," said Hazel, in a constrained voice, "that you
knew Mr. Caldwell so intimately that his death could prove such a shock
to you."

"John Caldwell?" questioned Miss Porter. "You do not mean to tell me
that you do not know who this man was, Hazel?"

"Why, yes, Jane; I know perfectly well who he was--his name was John
Caldwell; he was from London."

"Oh, Hazel, I wish I could believe it," moaned the girl. "I wish I
could believe it, but those features are burned so deep into my memory
and my heart that I should recognize them anywhere in the world from
among a thousand others, who might appear identical to any one but me."

"What do you mean, Jane?" cried Hazel, now thoroughly alar