of such an
important journey. Bad beginnings, they say, make bright endings; so
there is hope for thee yet in the stormy cloud."

"Flora, where are your omens now?" said Lyndsay, triumphantly. "Either
you or friend Adam must be wrong."

"Or the proverb I quoted, say rather," returned Adam. "Proverbs often
bear a double meaning, and can be interpreted as well one way as the
other. The ancients were cunning fellows in this respect, and were
determined to make themselves true prophets at any rate."

"What a miserable day," said the poet, turning from the window, where he
had been contemplating thoughtfully the gloomy aspect of things without.
His eye fell sadly upon his son. "It is enough to chill the heart."

"When I was a boy at school," said Adam, "I used to think that God sent
all the rain upon holidays, on purpose to disappoint us of our sport. I
found that most things in life happened contrary to our wishes; and I
used to pray devoutly, that all the Saturdays might prove wet, firmly
believing that it would be sure to turn out the reverse."

"According to your theory, Mansel," said Mr. Hawke, "Mrs. Lyndsay must
have prayed for a very fine day."

"Dost thee call this a holiday?" returned the Quaker, with a twinkle of
quiet humour in his bright brown eyes.

Mr. Hawke suppressed a sigh, and his glance again fell on his boy; and,
hurrying to the window, he mechanically drew his hand across his eyes.

Here the old Captain came bustling in, full of importance, chuckling,
rubbing his hands, and shaking his dripping fearnaught, with an air of
great satisfaction.

"You will not be disappointed, my dear," addressing himself to Mrs.
Lyndsay. "The wind has fallen off a bit; and, though the sea is too
rough for the small craft, Palmer, the captain of the pilot-boat, has
been with me; and, for the consideration of two pounds (forty
shillings),--a large sum of money, by-the-bye,--I will try and beat him
down to thirty,--he says he will launch the great boat, and man her with
twelve stout young fellows, who will take you, bag and baggage, on board
the steamer, though the gale were blowing twice as stiff. You have no
more to fear in that fine boat, than you have sitting at your ease in
that arm-chair. So make up your mind, my dear; for you have no time to
lose."

Flora looked anxiously from her husband to her child, and then at the
black, pouring sky, and the raging waters.

"There is no danger, Flora," said Lyndsay. "The