sie daft?" had half murmured the not ill-pleased captain;
then, perceiving that the salute had been bestowed without the detection
of his partner, a large slow smile expanded itself all over his broad
face.

"Wha are ye girning for like an auld Cheshire cat?" inquired the
unsuspicious lady.

"Nonsense, my dear; nonsense!" complacently stirring his grog and looking
rather foolish. His Scotch head had disapproved of what his good heart,
of no nationality, had decided with regard to Bluebell. I am not sure
now, though, that he did not think the money might be worse risked than
in taking this personable lassie another trip across the Atlantic.

CHAPTER XXX.

NO CARDS.

Love will make oar cottage pleasant,
And I love thee more than life.
--Tennyson.

A dense November fog ushered in the dawn of the following day. Bluebell
had been awake for hours. Some men were mending the streets, and, as she
listened to the monotonous blows of their pickaxes and hammers, a
lugubrious fancy crossed her that just such sounds would a criminal hear
when workmen were erecting the gallows that was to close his mortal
career. By ten o'clock a new page of her life would be turned over, if,
nervous and unstrung as she was, she were able to carry out the first
part of the drama. Suppose the captain should object to her walking
abroad, or offer again to accompany her! And even if she effected a
start, might he not, his suspicions awakened, quickly follow! The eight
o'clock breakfast bell rang, and Bluebell came down with a white, scared
face and dark rims to her eyes. The captain appeared unobservant. To tell
the truth, the stolen kiss, which he probably considered "naughty, but
nice," had made him somewhat conscious. So he looked demure and rather
sly; but the girl had forgotten the circumstance.

The old Dutch clock ticked louder than ever, and, as usual, recorded
the quarters with an internal convulsion. At half-past nine the boys
would go to school, and, in the commotion of their departure, Bluebell
resolved to pass from the threshold and go forth to her fate. She got her
hat,--unnoticed and unquestioned was in the street, and groping her way
through the fog with swift, unsteady steps. In two turnings from the door
Dutton met her, a relieved, triumphant smile lighting his features as he
placed her in a cab. The man, previously instructed, drove rapidly off to
the register office. Bluebell, now the di