fore noon, Margery, looking frail as a crushed white lily, lay on a
chair heaped with cushions and rugs close beside her mother; and the
sweet salt air and sunshine did their best to atone for the misery that
had been inflicted by the turbulent sea.

Bright, happy days followed, and sunsets and moonlight evenings, and the
girls learned to love sea life. They roamed over every part of the ship.
The good captain always had a smile and welcome for young people, and
told them many things about the management of vessels at sea.

There was no monotony, but every day seemed full of interest. All the
wonders of the great deep were about them--strange fish, sea porpoise,
and whales, by day, and ever-new phosphorescent gleams and starry
heavens by night. Then the wonderful interest of a sail at sea, or a
distant steamship; some other humanity than that on their own ship
passing them on the limitless ocean!

On the sixth day out the ship passed between Flores and Corvo, two of
the northernmost islands of the Azores; and, through the glass, they
could easily see the little Portuguese homes--almost the very
people--scattered on the sloping hill-sides.

After two days more, the long line of the distant shore of Cape St.
Vincent came into view, and Malcom, fresh from his history lesson,
recalled the the fact that nearly a hundred years ago, a great Spanish
fleet had been destroyed by the English under Admiral Nelson a little to
the eastward on these very waters.

The next morning was a momentous one. In the early sunshine the ship
entered the Bay of Gibraltar and anchored for several hours. Boats took
the passengers to visit the town, and to Barbara and Bettina the supreme
moment of travel in a foreign country had arrived; that in which they
found another land and first touched it with their feet; and entering
the streets found strange people and listened to a foreign tongue.

They drove through the queer, narrow, crooked streets, out upon the
"neutral ground," and up to the gardens; bought an English newspaper;
then, going back to the ship, looked up at the frowning rock threaded by
those English galleries, which, upon occasion, can pour forth from their
windows such a deadly hail.

Leaving the harbor, the ship passed slowly along between the "Pillars of
Hercules," for so many centuries the western limit of the Old World, and
entered the blue Mediterranean. And was this low dark line on the right
really Africa, the Dark Contin