ead.
Coxeter moved forward and took up his place in front of the deck-chair,
protecting its occupant from the jostling of the crowd, for the
sheltered place he had found stood but a little way back from the
passage between the land gangway and the iron staircase leading to the
lower deck.

There were more passengers that night than usual. They passed, a
seemingly endless procession, moving slowly out of the darkness into the
circle of light and then again into the white, engulfing mist.

At last the deck became clear of moving figures; the cold, raw fog had
driven almost everyone below. But Coxeter felt curiously content, rather
absurdly happy. This was to him a great adventure....

He took out his watch. If the boat started to time they would be off in
another five minutes. He told himself that this was turning out a very
pleasant journey; as a rule when crossing the Channel one meets tiresome
people one knows, and they insist on talking to one. And then, just as
he was thinking this, there suddenly surged forward out of the foggy
mist two people, a newly married couple named Rendel, with whom both he
and Mrs. Archdale were acquainted, at whose wedding indeed they had both
been present some six or seven weeks ago. So absorbed in earnest talk
with one another were the bride and bridegroom that they did not seem to
see where they were going; but when close to Mrs. Archdale they stopped
short, and turned towards one another, still talking so eagerly as to be
quite oblivious of possible eavesdroppers.

John Coxeter, standing back in the shadow, felt a sudden gust of envious
pain. They were evidently on their way home from their honeymoon, these
happy young people, blessed with good looks, money, health, and love;
their marriage had been the outcome of quite a pretty romance.

But stay,--what was this they were saying? Both he and Nan unwillingly
heard the quick interchange of words, the wife's shrill, angry
utterances, the husband's good-humoured expostulations. "I won't stay on
the boat, Bob. I don't see why we should risk our lives in order that
you may be back in town to-morrow. I know it's not safe--my great-uncle,
the Admiral, always said that the worst storm at sea was not as bad as
quite a small fog!" Then the gruff answer: "My dear child, don't be a
fool! The boat wouldn't start if there was the slightest danger. You
heard what that man told us. The fog was much worse this morning, and
the boat was only an hou