-I happened to be at Dover, and thought I would run over here for a
little bit. How lucky you are--it is such a beautiful day for crossing."

"That is good news; I must tell papa," said Natalie, cheerfully, as she
turned again to the open door.

CHAPTER VIII.

A DISCOVERY.

"And you are going over too? And to London also? Oh, that will be very
nice."

It seemed so strange to hear this voice, that had for days sounded to
him as if it were far away, now quite close, and talking in this
friendly and familiar fashion. Then she had brought the first of the
spring with her. The air had grown quite mild: the day was clear and
shining; even the little harbor there seemed bright and picturesque in
the sun. He had never before considered Calais a very beautiful place.

And as for her; well, she appeared pleased to have met with this
unexpected companion; and she was very cheerful and talkative as they
went down to the quay, these two together. And whether it was that she
was glad to be relieved from the cramped position of the carriage, or
whether it was that his being taller than she gave countenance to her
height, or whether it was merely that she rejoiced in the sweet air and
the exhilaration of the sunlight, she seemed to walk with even more than
her usual proudness of gait. This circumstance did not escape the eye of
her father, who was immediately behind.

"Natalie," said he, peevishly, "you are walking as if you wore a sword
by your side."

She did not seem sorely hurt.

"'Du Schwert an meiner Linken!'" she said, with a laugh. "It is my
military cloak that makes you think so, papa."

Why, even this cockle-shell of a steamer looked quite inviting on so
pleasant a morning. And there before them stretched the blue expanse of
the sea, with every wave, and every ripple on every wave, flashing a
line of silver in the sunlight. No sooner were they out of the
yellow-green waters of the harbor than Mr. Brand had his companions
conducted on to the bridge between the paddle-boxes; and the little
crop-haired French boy brought them camp-stools, and their faces were
turned toward England.

"Ah!" said Natalie, "many a poor wretch has breathed more freely when
at last he found himself looking out for the English shore. Do you
remember old Anton Pepczinski and his solemn toast, papa?"

She turned to George Brand.

"He was an old Polish gentleman, who used to come to our house in the
evening, he and a few others of