lmost amounted to despondency.

"What is to be done?" asked Lyndsay, who shared the same feelings in
common with his wife.

"Nothing, that I know of," responded Sam Rogers, "but to return."

As he spoke a dark shadow loomed through the fog, which proved to be a
small trading vessel, bound from London to Yarmouth. The sailors hailed
her, and with some difficulty ran the boat alongside.

"Have you passed the _City of Edinburgh_?"

"We spake her in the river. She ran foul of the _Courier_ steamer, and
unshipped her rudder. She put back for repairs, and won't be down till
to-morrow morning."

"The devil!" muttered Sam Rogers.

"Agreeable tidings for us," sighed Flora. "This is worse than the storm;
it is so unexpected. I should be quite disheartened, did I not believe
that Providence directed these untoward events."

"I am inclined to be of your opinion, Flora," said Lyndsay, "in spite of
my disbelief in signs and omens. There is something beyond mere accident
in this second disappointment."

"Is it not a solemn warning to us, not to leave England?" said Flora.

"I was certain that would be your interpretation of the matter,"
returned her husband; "but having put my hand to the plough, Flora, I
will not turn back."

The sailors now took to their oars, the dead calm precluding the use of
the sail, and began to steer their course homewards. The fog was so
dense and bewildering that they made little way, and the long day was
spent in wandering to and fro without being able to ascertain where they
were.

"Hark!" cried one of the men, laying his ear to the side of the boat, "I
hear the flippers of the steamer."

"It is the roar of the accursed _Barnet_," cried the other. "I know its
voice of old, having twice been wrecked upon the reef--we must change
our course; we are on a wrong tack altogether."

It was near midnight before a breeze sprang up and dispelled the ominous
fog. The moon showed her wan face through the driving scud, the sail was
at last hoisted, and cold and hungry, and sick at heart, our voyagers
once more returned to their old port.

This time, however, the beach was silent and deserted. No friendly voice
welcomed them back. Old Kitson looked cross at being roused out of his
bed at one o'clock in the morning, to admit them into the house,
muttering as he did so, something about "unlucky folks, and the deal of
trouble they gave; that they had better give up going to Canada
altogether, and hire t