Is it to increase the impediments to quitting one's country, and, by interposing difficulties, to give the exile additional occasion to think twice about expatriating himself, that the way from the railroad to the dock at Dover is made so circuitous and almost impossible to discover? Are these obstacles invented in the spirit of those official details which make banns on the church-door, and a delay of three weeks precede a marriage, as though to say, Halt, impetuous youth, and bethink you whither you are going? Are these amongst the wise precautions of a truly paternal rule? If so, they must occasionally even transcend the original intention, for when I reached the pier, the packet had already begun to move, and it was only by a vigorous leap that I gained the paddle-box, and thus scrambled on board. “Like every one of you,” growled out my weather-beaten friend; “always within an ace of being left behind.” “Every one of us!” muttered I. “What can he have known of the Potts family, that he dares to describe us thus characteristically? And who ever presumed to call us loiterers or sluggards?” “Step down below, as I told you,” whispered he. “It's a dirty night, and we shall have bucketing weather outside.” And with this friendly hint I at once complied, and stole down the ladder. “Show that gentleman into my stateroom, steward,” called he out from above. “Mix him something warm, and look after him.” “Ay, ay, sir,” was the brisk reply, as the bustling man of brandy and basins threw open a small door, and ushered me into a little den, with a mingled odor of tar, Stilton, and wet mackintoshes. “All to yourself here, sir,” said he, and vanished. CHAPTER XI. A JEALOUS HUSBAND.