xious to her. Indeed, it is more than
doubtful if she retained any clear impression whatsoever of the places
she visited. "A set of foreign holes!" as she would call them,
contemptuously. Miss Terry was, in short, neither clever nor strong
minded, but so long as she could be in the company of her beloved
Mildred, whom she regarded with mingled reverence and affection, she
was perfectly happy. Oddly enough, this affection was reciprocated,
and there probably was nobody in the world for whom Mrs. Carr cared so
much as her cousin by marriage, Agatha Terry. And yet it would be
impossible to imagine two women more dissimilar.

Not long after they had left Dartmouth, the afternoon set in dull, and
towards evening the sea freshened sufficiently to send most of the
passengers below, leaving those who remained to be finally dispersed
by the penetrating drizzle that is generally to be met with off the
English coast. Arthur, left alone on the heaving deck, surveyed the
scene, and thought it very desolate. Around was a grey waste of
tossing waters, illumined here and there by the setting rays of an
angry sun, above, a wild and windy sky, with not even a sea-gull in
all its space, and in the far distance a white and fading line, which
was the shore of England.

Faint it grew, and fainter yet, and, as it disappeared, he thought of
Angela, and a yearning sorrow fell upon him. When, he wondered sadly,
should he again look into her eyes, and hold that proud beauty in his
arms; what fate awaited them in the future that stretched before them,
dim as the darkening ocean, and more uncertain. Alas! he could not
tell, he only felt that it was very bitter to be parted thus from her
to whom had been given his whole heart's love, to know that every
fleeting moment widened a breach already far too wide, and not to know
if it would again be narrowed, or if this farewell would be the last.
Then he thought, if it should be the last, if she should die or desert
him, what would his life be worth to him? A consciousness within him
answered, "nothing." And, in a degree, his conclusion was right; for,
although it is, fortunately, not often in the power of any single
passion to render life altogether worthless; it is certain that, when
it strikes in youth, there is no sickness so sore as that of the
heart; no sorrow more keen, and no evil more lasting than those
connected with its disappointments and its griefs. For other sorrows,
life has salves and co