transparent
amber-like substance, which is at all events very wholesome. The sun was
so powerful that it was quite pleasant on their return to sit in the
little terraced garden and take their lunch before lesson-time, and
while their governess sipped her tea, the children drank their goat's
milk, and ate bread and quince jelly.

The warm February sun shone down on her, but she heeded it not; a
passage in Mrs. Somerset's letter, which had just been handed to her,
haunted her, and she read again and again: she could get no farther. "I
believe it is very likely we shall take the next ship that touches here,
it is the _Minerva_ from Tasmania. They say it is a hospital ship, but I
cannot wait for another, I hunger so for a sight of the children."

The young governess was none other than Norah Wylie. She had never
ceased following her husband's movements with the greatest, most painful
interest. She knew he had lately gone to Tasmania; suppose he should
return in that very ship? More unlikely things had happened. She was at
times very weary of her continual monotonous round, though she had been
fortunate enough to have got a very exceptional engagement, and had been
with Mrs. Somerset's children almost ever since she and her husband had
parted.

As Norah sat and knitted, looking out to sea and wondering where her
husband was, he, at the very moment, was pacing up and down the deck of
the _Minerva_. They had so far had a prosperous journey, fair winds, and
a calm sea. Some of the invalids were improving, and even able to come
to table, for sea air is a wonderful life-giver. But there were others
who would never see England. It was a day of intense heat in the Red
Sea, and even at that early season of the year there was not a breath of
air.

Amongst those who had been carried up out of the stifling cabin was one
whose appearance arrested Captain Wylie's attention, as he took his
constitutional in the lightest of light flannels. He could not but be
struck by the appearance of the young man. He had never seen him before,
but he looked so fragile that the young officer's kind heart went out to
him. He was lying in an uncomfortable position, his head all twisted and
half off the limp cabin pillow.

Something in the young face, so pathetic in its youth, with the ravages
of disease visible in the hectic cheek, and harsh, rasping cough,
touched the strong young officer. He stooped down and put his hand on
the young lad's forehea