lad of them, for my Charles. Mrs. K.
is an excellent hand at transmogrifying things, and in a large family
such articles never come amiss."

Charles was the Captain's youngest son. A poor idiot, who, thirty years
of age, had the appearance of an overgrown boy. The other members of the
Captain's _large_ family were all married and settled prosperously in
the world. Flora felt truly ashamed of the old man's meanness, but was
glad to repay his trifling services in a way suggested by himself. The
weather for the last three weeks had been unusually fine, but towards
the evening of this memorable 30th of May, large masses of clouds began
to rise in the north-west, and the sea changed its azure hue to a dull
leaden grey. Old Kitson shook his head prophetically.

"There's a change of weather at hand, Mrs. Lyndsay; you may look out for
squalls before six o'clock to-morrow. The wind shifts every minute, and
there's an ugly swell rolling in upon the shore."

"Ah, I hope it will be fine," said Flora, looking anxiously up at the
troubled sky; "it is so miserable to begin a long journey in the rain.
Perhaps it will pass off during the night in a thunder-shower."

The old man whistled, shut one eye, and looked knowingly at the sea with
the other.

"Women know about as much of the weather as your nurse does of handling
a rope. Whew! but there's a gale coming; I'll down to the beach, and
tell the lads to haul up the boats, and make all snug before it bursts,"
and away toddled the old man, full of the importance of his mission.

It was the last night at home--the last social meeting of kindred
friends on this side the grave. Flora tried to appear cheerful, but the
forced smile upon the tutored lips, rendered doubly painful the tears
kept back in the swollen eyes; the vain effort of the sorrowful in heart
to be gay. Alas! for the warm hearts, the generous friendships, the
kindly greetings of dear Old England, when would they be hers again?
Flora's friends at length took leave, and she was left with her husband
alone.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE DEPARTURE.

It was the dawn of day when Flora started from a broken, feverish sleep,
aroused to consciousness by the heavy roaring of the sea, as the huge
billows thundered against the stony beach. To spring from her bed and
draw back the curtains of the window which commanded a full view of the
bay, was but the work of a moment. How quickly she let it fall in
despair over the cheerless