s is, doubtless, but a rushlight as compared
to the sunshine of paradise, our dreams must necessarily fall exceedingly
far short of the reality. Hitherto Antony's happiness had been largely
monochrome, flecked with tiny specks of radiance. He might indeed have
dreamed of something a trifle brighter, but how was it possible for him
to have formed from them the smallest conception of the happiness that
was awaiting him?

"It is really perfect," said a voice behind him, echoing his thoughts.

Antony turned.

The Duchessa had come on deck, spurred and gauntleted for their
adventure,--in other words, attired in a soft, black dress, a shady black
hat on her head, crinkly black gloves, which reached to the elbow, on her
hands, and carrying a blue sunshade.

"It is really perfect," she repeated, gazing towards the mountainous land
before them, the doll-like figures on the shore, the boats cleaving the
sparkling waters.

"Absolutely," declared Antony, his eyes wrinkling at the corners in sheer
delight. "The gods have favoured us."

"Is there a boat ready?" she demanded, eager as a child to start on the
adventure.

"A boat," said Antony, looking over the ship's side, "will be with us in
a couple of moments I should say, to judge by the strength of the rower's
arms. He has been racing the other fellows, and will be first at his
goal."

"Then come," she said. "Let us be first too. I don't want to lose a
minute."

Antony followed in her wake. Her sentiments most assuredly were his. It
was not a day of which to squander one iota.

Ten minutes later they were on their way to the shore. Behind them the
_Fort Salisbury_ loomed up large and black from the limpid water; before
them lay the land of possibilities.

The other passengers in the boat kept up a running fire of comments. A
stout gentleman in a sun-helmet, which he considered _de rigeur_ as long
as he was anywhere at all near the regions of Africa, gazed towards the
shore through a pair of field-glasses. At intervals he made known such
objects of interest as he observed, in loud husky asides to his wife, a
small meek woman, who clung to him, metaphorically speaking, as the ivy
to the oak. Her vision being unaided by field-glasses, she was unable to
follow his observations with the degree of intelligence he demanded.

"I don't think I quite--" she remarked anxiously now and again, blinking
in the same direction as her spouse.

"To the left, my dear, among the tree