y did you not tell me that before?" he remarked, contemplating his
empty plate with a gloomy eye. "Besides I expect we shall be in
different parts of the ship."

"Oh! I daresay it can be arranged," she answered.

And as a matter of fact, it was "arranged," all the way to Lucerne. At
Dover station Miss Ogilvy had a hurried interview at the ticket office.
Godfrey did not in the least understand what she was doing, but as a
result he was her companion throughout the long journey. The crossing
was very rough, and it was Godfrey who was ill, excessively ill, not
Miss Ogilvy who, with the assistance of her maid and the steward,
attended assiduously to him in his agonies.

"And to think," he moaned faintly as they moored alongside of the
French pier, "that once I wished to be a sailor."

"Nelson was always sick," said Miss Ogilvy, wiping his damp brow with a
scented pocket-handkerchief, while the maid held the smelling-salts to
his nose.

"Then he must have been a fool to go to sea," muttered Godfrey, and
relapsed into a torpor, from which he awoke only to find himself
stretched at length on the cushions of a first-class carriage.

Later on, the journey became very agreeable. Godfrey was interested in
everything, being of a quick and receptive mind, and Miss Ogilvy proved
a fund of information. When they had exhausted the scenery they
conversed on other topics. Soon she knew everything there was to know
about him and Isobel, whom it was evident she could not understand.

"Tell me," she said, looking at his dark and rather unusual eyes, "do
you ever have dreams, Godfrey?" for now she called him by his Christian
name.

"Not at night, when I sleep very soundly, except after that poor cabman
was killed. I have seen lots of dead people, because my father always
takes me to look at them in the parish, to remind me of my own latter
end, as he says, but they never made me dream before."

"Then do you have them at all?"

He hesitated a little.

"Sometimes, at least visions of a sort, when I am walking alone,
especially in the evening, or wondering about things. But always when I
am alone."

"What are they?" she asked eagerly.

"I can't quite explain," he replied in a slow voice. "They come and
they go, and I forget them, because they fade out, just like a dream
does, you know."

"You must remember something; try to tell me about them."

"Well, I seem to be among a great many people whom I have never met.
Yet I know