orld. Oh, yes, why don't you wear a cross? Not
so much for the ornament, of course. I got this one at Tiffany's and it
cost me ten pounds. But, as Mr. Bartlett said, the cross stands for
sacrifice, so I don't begrudge it. I think, in this world of sin and
sorrow every one should wear a cross. We're going a little faster now,
don't you think?"

"Yes, madam, I think we are--and I do wear a cross--if you have not
forgotten your question."

"Oh, you do. I am so glad. Where? I suppose you've changed your clothes.
But I never noticed it before."

"No, I don't think you have seen it."

"Oh, I see, lots of men carry them under their vests. But I think we
should let the world see it. Do you carry yours next your heart?"

"No, madam, deeper still," said Mr. Blake.

XXVIII

_The HEATHERY HILLS_

The anchor had been cast, and the good ship, panting, lay at rest. The
bugle note had followed the departing tender with wistful strains of
"Auld Lang Syne," and the emancipated passengers were pouring out upon
old England's hospitable soil. The happy crowd, catching already the
contagion of English jollity, swayed about the landing stage, then
flowed in separate streams into the Customs pen; for this is the first
tug of the tether, just when all who have escaped the sea think they are
safe at last. Out through the fingers of the stern inspectors flowed the
crowd in still thinner streams, till all this community of the deep is
scattered to the winds.

Swift-hurrying, they go their separate ways, and the happy little bubble
has burst and vanished, as its successors, now forming on the bosom of
the deep, will burst and vanish too. What friendships, what ardent
loves, what molten vows, ocean born, have begun to languish on the wharf
at Liverpool, like sunfish separated from their native wave!

Michael Blake hailed a hansom and drove to the North-Western. As he
passed through the turbid streets, dense loneliness settled about him
like a fog. This was old England, this the land which exiles across the
sea in their fondness call the "old country."

But he could not free himself from the thought that, when he left it,
youth's sun was burning bright; and now more than the early afternoon
was gone.

"The evening too will pass, as the afternoon has passed," he said to
himself, "only more quickly." And he glanced at the descending sun,
God's metaphor of warning, the recurring epitome of life. His lips moved
to speak a text, th