nerations of Christian freedom and enlightenment.
Yes, I see the finger of Fate upon this sign-post of an advertisement in
a Church paper. His flag is represented to me by Mr. Tomley's white
and cherished lock. Assuredly our migration is decreed of the Norns,
therefore I accept it without question; but I should like to know what
kind of a web of destiny they are weaving for us yonder in the place
called Monksland."

CHAPTER XXI

THE END OF STELLA'S DIARY

A month or two later in the diary came the account of the shipwreck of
the Trondhjem and of the writer's rescue from imminent death. "My first
great adventure," the pages were headed. They told how her father, with
whom ready-money was a scarce commodity, and who had a passion for small
and uncomfortable economies, suddenly determined to save two or three
pounds by taking a passage in a Norwegian tramp steamboat named the
Trondhjem. This vessel, laden with a miscellaneous cargo, had put in
at a Northumbrian port, and carried freight consisting of ready-made
windows, door-frames, and other wooden house-fittings suited to the
requirements of the builders of seaside villas, to be delivered at
the rising watering-place of Northwold, upon her way to London.
Then followed a description of the voyage, the dirt of the ship, the
surpassing nastiness of the food, and the roughness of the crew, whose
sailor-like qualities inspired the writer with no confidence.

Next, the diary which now had been written up by Stella in the Abbey
where Morris read it, went on to tell of how she had gone to her berth
one night in the cabin next to that occupied by her father, and being
tired by a long day in the strong sea air had fallen instantly into a
heavy sleep, which was disturbed by a nightmare-like dream of shock
and noise. This imagined pandemonium, it said, was followed by a great
quiet, in the midst of which she awoke to miss the sound of the thumping
screw and of the captain shouting his orders from the bridge.

For a while, the writing told, she lay still, till a sense that
something was wrong awoke her thoroughly, when she lit the candle which
she kept by her berth, and, rising, peeped out into the saloon to see
that water was washing along its floor. Presently she made another
discovery, that she was alone, utterly alone, even her father's cabin
being untenanted.

The rest need not be repeated in detail. Throwing on some garments, and
a red cloak of North-country frieze,