of the way.

I found one occupied by two files of soldiers in charge of a couple of
deserters, and in this genial company performed the remainder of the
journey in what would have been something like comfort but for the
ominous gusts of wind and rain which, as we neared the coast, buffeted
the carriage window, and promised a particularly ugly night for any one
contemplating a sea voyage.

Sub-Chapter II.

BOWLED OUT.

When we reached Fleetwood it was blowing (so I heard some one say) "half
a cap." I privately wondered what a whole cap must be like; for it was
all I could do, by leaning hard up against the wind, and holding on my
hat--a chimney-pot hat, by the way--to tack up the platform and fetch
round for the Belfast steamer, which lay snorting and plunging
alongside.

It takes a very good sailor to be cheerful under such circumstances. I
felt profoundly melancholy and wished myself safe at home in my bed.
The sight of the black and red funnel swaying to and fro raised qualms
in me which, although still on _terra firma_, almost called for the
intervention of a friendly steward. Alas! friend there was none.

In my desperation I was tempted basely to compromise with duty. How did
I know Michael McCrane was on the steamer at all? He might have dropped
out at any one of a dozen wayside stations between Bletchley and here.
Indeed the probability was that he had. Or--and I felt almost
affectionately towards him as the thought crossed my mind--even if he
had come so far, he, like myself, might be a bad sailor, and prefer to
spend the night on this side of the angry Channel. I could have
forgiven him much, I felt, had I been sure of that.

In any case, I asked myself earnestly, was I justified in running my
employers into the further expense of a return ticket to Belfast without
being reasonably sure that I was on the right track? And _was_ I
reasonably sure? Was I even--

On the steerage deck of the steamer below me, with a portmanteau in one
hand and a brand-new hat-box and a rug in the other, a figure staggered
towards the companion ladder and disappeared below. That figure, even
to my unwilling eyes, was naught else but a tragic answer to my own
question.

Michael McCrane was on board, and going below!

A last lingering hope remained.

"Hardly put off to-night, will you?" said I to a mate beside me, with
the best assumption of swagger at my command.

He was encasing himself in tarpaulins, and ap