I let fall the veil. Alice Lee kept her eyes fastened upon me. What was passing in her mind who can tell, but her face was that of an angel, so spiritually beautiful with emotion that to my sight and fancy it seemed actually glorified, as though her living lineaments were a mere jugglery of the vision clothing an angelic spirit in flesh for a passing moment that the physical sight might behold it. This cabin occupied by the Lees was so comfortable, fresh, and bright, that I never could have supposed the like of such a bedroom was to be found at sea. The sleeping shelves were curtained with dimity, which travelled upon brass rods. The beds were draped as on shore. There were chests of drawers, some shelves filled with books, a few framed photographs suspended against the cabin wall by loops of blue ribbon. As the vessel rolled the white water that was racing past rose, gleaming and boiling, and the flash of it flung a lightning-like dazzle into the sunshine that was pouring upon the large cabin porthole and filling the berth with the splendour of the wide, windy, foaming, ocean morning. When I had let fall my veil I sat silent, with the eyes of Alice Lee tenderly dwelling upon me. Mrs. Lee pulled out her watch and said, ‘It is half-past twelve. Luncheon is served at one. You will take your place at the table, I hope, Agnes?’ she added, pronouncing the word with an air of embarrassment and a smile at her daughter. ‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘I intend to take my meals henceforth in the saloon.’ Mrs. Lee looked at Alice, who immediately said, ‘I will lunch at table to-day.’ ‘But do you feel strong enough to do so?’ exclaimed Mrs. Lee anxiously. ‘I can withdraw when I feel tired,’ said the girl; ‘it is not far to walk, mother; but Agnes, sister Agnes, must sit next to me.’ ‘I will speak to the steward,’ said Mrs. Lee, and, throwing a shawl over her shoulders, she smiled at me and quitted the berth. ‘We will go over the names I have written down this afternoon,’ said Alice. ‘It may be that you will not know your own name if you see it! But, supposing you should see it and remember it! There are many things I shall think of to try. And, Agnes, we must not forget to ask God to help us and to bless our efforts.’ ‘God?’ I repeated, and I looked at her. A startled expression came and went in her eyes. ‘Lift up your veil, dear,’ said she; ‘I wish to see your face.’ I raised the veil, and directed my gaze fully at her. ‘Can it be,’ said she in a low, sweet voice, ‘that you have forgotten the sacred name of God?’ ‘No,’ I answered; ‘I have not forgotten the name of God. Tell me----’ I paused. ‘It is so! How strange!’ she exclaimed. ‘Yet God must live in the memory too. It is hard to realise. Oh, Agnes, this brings your loss home to me as nothing else could. Lonely indeed you must be if you do not feel that you are being watched over, and that your Heavenly Father is with you always.’