Whether or not love at first sight be possible I cannot say--cannot be sure; but no doubt we meet people in this world whom, from the very first, we feel we cannot like. Nat Biffins Lee seemed to be one of these to Frank Antony, at all events. There was that in his manner which was repellent, positively or rather negatively repellent. The man was evidently on the best of terms with himself, but his manners were too much of the circus-master to please Antony. And the young man was discontented with himself for feeling as he did. Yet how could a man like this Biffins possess so gentle and sweet a child as Lotty for a daughter? It was puzzling. But then, Mrs Biffins Lee, the girl's mother--well, Lotty might have taken after her. Perhaps Antony's thoughts were running riot to-night; one's thoughts, when very tired, are very apt to. He had read a whole page of the little volume he held in his hand without knowing in the very least what he had been reading. He shut his eyes now very hard as if to squeeze away drowsiness, then opened them wide to read the passage over again. It was a translation from the writings of some ancient Celtic bard which he had got hold of, strangely wild, almost uncouth, but still it seemed to accord with the situation, with the boom of the breaking waves and soft rocking of his home-upon-wheels. It was the lament of Malvina, the daughter of Toscar, for the death of her lover Oscar: 'It was the voice of my love! Seldom art thou in the dreams of Malvina! Open your aerie halls, O father of Toscar of Shields! Unfold the gates of your clouds; the steps of Malvina are near. I have heard a voice in my dream. I feel the fluttering of my soul. Why didst thou come, O blast, from the dark rolling face of the lake? Thy rustling wing was in the tree; the dream of Malvina fled. But she has beheld her love when his robe of mist flew on the wind. A sunbeam was on his skirts; they glittered like the gold of a stranger. It was the voice of my love! Seldom comes he to my dreams. 'But thou dwellest in the soul of Malvina, son of mighty Ossian! My sighs arise with the beam of the east, my tears descend with the drops of night. I was a lovely tree in thy presence, Oscar, with all my branches round me; but thy death came like a blast from the desert, and laid my green head low. The spring returned with its showers; no leaf of mine arose. The virgins saw me silent in the hall; they touched the harp of joy. The tear was on the cheek of Malvina; the virgins beheld me in my grief. "Why art thou sad," they said, "thou first of the maids of Lutha? Was he lovely as the beam of the morning, and stately in thy sight?"' * * * * * The 'Gipsy Queen' lay somewhat nearer to the cliffs than the barracks and the other caravans and tents. She had been placed here probably that Antony might have quietness.