our. Her vague dreams of John
the Baptist, of Siegfried and of Britomart suddenly crystallized, and
she saw herself, very self-consciously, the Deliverer who would save
Louis Fame. It did not occur to her to wonder if he were worth saving.
He was imprisoned in the first windmill she had encountered on her Don
Quixote quest--and so he was to be rescued.

CHAPTER VII

She wakened to a world of blue and silver next morning; the sunlight
seemed to come from the sea with a cold, hard glitter; there was a
keenness in the air, a sharp tang of sea-salt with an underlying
suggestion of something that was pleasantly reminiscent of Dr. Angus's
surgery. The sailors were sluicing the deck with great hoses, and
sprinkling it with little watering-cans of disinfectant. Up on the
fo'c'sle her deck-chair was side by side with another on which "L. F."
was stencilled; after breakfast she went there with a book, expecting
Louis to follow her. Presently Jimmy discovered her, bringing three
other children with him, and they sat with shining eyes while she told
them fairy-tales.

When they drew into Plymouth Harbour the fo'c'sle was cleared, and
Marcella watched a few people going ashore. Not very many went: they had
not been at sea long enough to welcome a change on land, and the
_Oriana_ only stayed two hours to take on mails and passengers.

All that day she did not see Louis. Once or twice she heard him in his
cabin, speaking to the man who shared it with him; not once did he put
in an appearance at meals, and even at the melancholy hour of twilight
he hid himself somewhere. She began to feel a little neglected.

It was easy to make friends: there were so many children to act as
introducers. It was interesting to watch people forming little cliques;
the pock-marked man had now a collection of eight; they went ashore at
Plymouth and came back again talking excitedly, with little snatches of
song. Mr. Peters and Mrs. Hetherington, the bright-haired little widow,
were inseparable; one of the farm lads had forsaken Ole Fred already for
a shy, red-cheeked emigrant girl, who giggled a good deal in corners
with him; they sat for long hours, as the trip went on, saying nothing,
staring out vacantly to sea, and occasionally holding each other's
hands. At tea-time Marcella saw Louis come to the door of the saloon,
look round with a frown, become very red in the face as he saw several
people look at him casually, and beat a hasty retreat