Antony got all the newspapers he could think of, and read them, inch by inch, handing them quietly to Biffins Lee to glance at after he had finished. As long as he found nothing about Lotty in the paper hope lived in his heart, but again and again, to keep it burning, he had to recall the words of Crona. He feared, somehow, to go back there again notwithstanding, lest she might have received some second revelation that would dash all that hope aside. Wallace followed him everywhere and slept in his caravan at night. But the dog seemed very nervous at times, and would start as if with fear when he heard the slightest unusual sound. Antony avoided Biffins as much as he possibly could, because the man appeared to have but one string on which he cared to harp--namely, the utter ruin to the Queerest Show that the loss of Lotty Lee was bound to entail. But one day a strange thing happened. Antony Blake was walking sadly enough by the seashore at some distance from the camp, and Wallace himself quietly followed. Suddenly the great dog gave a yap of impatience, and, looking about, the young man saw him rush seawards, and, with a howl of mingled joy and despair apparently, take the water with a splash. And to his horror Antony noticed that the dog was making for some sort of cloth or garment that was rising and falling on the waves a long distance out. His heart almost stood still, and there were beads of cold perspiration on his brow as the dog seized the fearful something and was seen making his way inshore with it. It must be, young Antony thought, poor Lotty's dead body. He placed his hand over his eyes and kept it there for quite a long time, until he heard the dog bark again close beside him on the beach. What he had brought in was the mast and sail of the _Jenny Wren_. And Antony could breathe more freely now. But that night he made his way again to Crona's cottage, and, strangely enough, the old lady was waiting to receive him. CHAPTER XIII. ON BOARD THE 'NOR'LAN' STAR.' The little gipsy lass was in a very pleasant dream--at least she firmly believed it was a dream. Her dreams were nearly always nice, so much so indeed that she never cared to waken too soon out of one. She did not mean to, out of this one, for she was very warm and comfortable, and she would be aroused far too speedily presently, and find herself in the little caravan with hardly time for breakfast before Biffins Lee would be shouting for all hands to come to rehearsal.