But it was an awkward position. You know how haughty Mr. Charteris can be; you know also that unlucky peculiarity in me, call it Scotch shyness, cautiousness, or what you please, my little English girl must cure it, if she can. Whether or not it was my fault, I soon felt that this visit was turning out a complete failure. We conversed in the civillest manner, though somewhat disjointedly, on politics, the climate and trade of Liverpool, &c., but of Mr. Charteris and his real condition, I learned no more than if I were meeting him at a London dinner-party, or a supper with poor Tom Turton--who is dead, as you know. Mr. Charteris did not, it seems, and his startled exclamation at hearing the fact was the own natural expression during my whole visit. Which, after a few rather broad hints, I took the opportunity of a letter's being brought in, to terminate. Not, however, with any intention on my side of its being a final one. The figure of this wretched-looking invalid, though he would not own to illness--men seldom will--lying in the solitary, fireless lodging-house parlor, where there was no indication of food, and a strong smell of opium--followed me all the way to the jetty, suggesting plan after plan concerning him. You cannot think how pretty even our dull river looks of a night, with its two long lines of lighted shores, and other lights scattered between in all directions, _every_ vessel's rigging bearing one. And to-night, above all things, was a large bright moon, sailing up over innumerable white clouds, into the clear dark zenith, converting the town of Liverpool into a fairy city, and the muddy Mersey into a pleasant river, crossed by a pathway of silver--such as one always looks at with a kind of hope that it would lead to "some bright isle of rest." There was a song to that effect popular when Dallas and I were boys. As the boat moved off, I settled myself to enjoy the brief seven minutes of crossing--thinking, if I had but the little face by me looking up into the moonlight she is so fond of, the little hand to keep warm in mine! And now, Theodora, I come to something which you must use your own judgment about telling your sister Penelope. Half-way across, I was attracted by the peculiar manner of a passenger, who had leaped on the boat just as we were shoved off, and now stood still as a carved figure, staring down into the foamy track of the paddle-wheels. He was so absorbed that he did not notice me, but I recognized him at once, and an ugly suspicion entered my mind.