“I am afraid, captain, you will not be pleased when I tell you our errand. An unfortunate mistake has led to a quarrel between him and his uncle, a very rich old gentleman, to whom he will be the sole heir. The mistake has been cleared up and explained since you left the river, and his uncle is here with me to take him home again.” “I shall be sorry indeed to lose him, for he has been the life and soul of the passengers since we started; kept them in good spirits, got up games—just the fellow to sail with; but, if it’s for his advantage, I shall not grudge him his fortune. Is there anything I can do for you?” “Yes, captain, I wanted to ask you if you would kindly let me have the use of your cabin for a few minutes?” “With all my heart,” and the captain led the way to his cabin. “This way, uncle.” And Prescott and Captain Bradshaw went into the cabin, which was on deck, while Alice remained looking over the bulwarks in her former position. Frank was romping with Charley, and keeping him in screams of delight by pretending to be about to throw him over the bulwarks, when one of the boys came up. “Please, sir, the captain will be glad if you will step into his cabin?” “Certainly,” Frank said, setting the boy down upon the deck. “There, Charley, don’t get into mischief. I expect it is about the luggage, Katie; I was asking him last night whether he would have some of it up on deck when we had anchored.” Kate’s attention was thoroughly taken up now with the two children, for Charley evinced an inclination to toddle after his papa. “Please stop Charley, Mr. Cairns,” Kate cried, laughingly, to a passenger near the child. The gentleman addressed was on the point of seizing the child, when a lady, who was coming up, caught it up in her arms, and bore him struggling violently back to Kate. “You little scamp,” his mother said; “if you don’t keep quiet by me, I must send for nurse;” and then, looking up and seeing that Charley was in the arms of a stranger, she stopped. She had never seen Alice Heathcote but once, and then only for a brief moment, and she did not in the slightest recognise the lady who stood before her. Alice put the child down by her side, and said, “You do not know me. I am Alice Heathcote.” Kate drew back then. She drew herself up haughtily. “I suppose you wish to see my husband, Miss Heathcote. I will send for him.” “His uncle is in the cabin with him,” Alice said, quietly; “he has come on board to explain to——,” and Alice’s intuition taught her that Kate would not like to hear her husband’s Christian name from her lips, “to my cousin that a terrible mistake has taken place—and that—that—” “Charley, come here,” Kate said, sharply, as the child was pulling at the strange lady’s dress. “It is rather late for explanation, Miss Heathcote. The time for that has long passed. Thank God! Frank and I can for the future depend upon ourselves.”