Though Folkestone, west and east, already was pretty full, here were other visitors, within a stone’s-throw of the shores that welcome such hosts of undesirables from foreign lands. One of the much advertised steamers of the South-Eastern line was rapidly nearing the harbour with a crowded human cargo. Of late years the Boulogne and Folkestone route had increased in favour. It was not surprising, for it made the journey between Paris and London shorter by twenty-eight miles than the Calais-Dover line. Herrick, who knew something of the signals adopted on these boats, was aware that each ball on the foremast represented a hundred passengers; a ball on the mainmast vouched for another twenty; a flag on the foremast stood for fifty passengers; a ball at the peak over the ensign represented ten. It was plain to him that the _Queen of the South_, whose figurehead gleamed in its brand-new gilt above the dancing wavelets, was as full as the Board of Trade would allow--and perhaps a little fuller. While the steamer was being berthed, he stood upon the long platform and watched the passengers as they came ashore. The number of foreigners was quite astonishing. Swarthy, dark-haired, ill-favoured fellows, most of them, they hurried to the London train already in waiting, while there were a few whom the after-stress of what Thackeray called the “marine malady” drove in eager search of refreshment. What, however, struck Herrick even more forcibly, and, indeed, with something akin to shock, was the fact that each one of those ill-favoured visitors wore upon his breast a metal disc. Yet more amazing, the disc--unless his eyes deceived him--resembled the impression on the threatening letter he had carefully placed inside his pocket-book only an hour or two ago. While this staggering circumstance held him wondering, the through passengers entrained; the warning whistle sounded, and they were off. A man, who had landed in leisurely fashion from the boat, stood near him, also watching the departing train. Presently he turned. Their eyes met, and in them came a look of recognition. Somewhere, Herrick felt assured, he had seen that face before--but where? The man passed him, a slight smile on his lips, and entered a well-appointed motor-car. Then, in an instant, conviction flashed on Herrick’s mind. It was the face that had affected him so strangely at the Central Criminal Court, when he stood up as Counsel for the Crown in the memorable case that failed! * * * * * That evening, in the ancient parish church, so beautifully restored, Aldwyth and her lover stood side by side. Sonorous and impressive, organ, choir, and congregation together voiced a hymn of faith: “Beneath the shadow of Thy Throne Thy Saints have dwelt secure; Sufficient is Thine Arm alone And our defence is sure.” The sadness of fleeting life found deep expression towards the end: