the telescope over George's shoulder, but
she could make nothing of it. She only saw a black eclipse bobbing up
and down before her eyes.

George took the glass again and raked the vessel. "How she does pitch!"
he said. "There goes a wave slap over her bows. There's only two
people on deck besides the steersman. There's a man lying down, and
a--chap in a--cloak with a--Hooray!--it's Dob, by Jingo!" He clapped to
the telescope and flung his arms round his mother. As for that lady,
let us say what she did in the words of a favourite poet--"Dakruoen
gelasasa." She was sure it was William. It could be no other. What
she had said about hoping that he would not come was all hypocrisy. Of
course he would come; what could he do else but come? She knew he would
come.

The ship came swiftly nearer and nearer. As they went in to meet her
at the landing-place at the quay, Emmy's knees trembled so that she
scarcely could run. She would have liked to kneel down and say her
prayers of thanks there. Oh, she thought, she would be all her life
saying them!

It was such a bad day that as the vessel came alongside of the quay
there were no idlers abroad, scarcely even a commissioner on the look
out for the few passengers in the steamer. That young scapegrace
George had fled too, and as the gentleman in the old cloak lined with
red stuff stepped on to the shore, there was scarcely any one present
to see what took place, which was briefly this:

A lady in a dripping white bonnet and shawl, with her two little hands
out before her, went up to him, and in the next minute she had
altogether disappeared under the folds of the old cloak, and was
kissing one of his hands with all her might; whilst the other, I
suppose, was engaged in holding her to his heart (which her head just
about reached) and in preventing her from tumbling down. She was
murmuring something about--forgive--dear William--dear, dear, dearest
friend--kiss, kiss, kiss, and so forth--and in fact went on under the
cloak in an absurd manner.

When Emmy emerged from it, she still kept tight hold of one of
William's hands, and looked up in his face. It was full of sadness and
tender love and pity. She understood its reproach and hung down her
head.

"It was time you sent for me, dear Amelia," he said.

"You will never go again, William?"

"No, never," he answered, and pressed the dear little soul once more to
his heart.

As they issued out of the custom-hou