'He is, of course, a topsawyer,' said Dewsnap, superciliously, as, notwithstanding his wealth, he had been rather ignored in society, 'and speaks in the House, I suppose?' 'Yes.' 'But I have never heard of a word he said.' 'Likely enough--he never gets beyond "Hear, hear!" He is a Scots' representative peer.' 'With a family tree, of course. D--n'm, I would rather have a good gooseberry-bush!' The little state-room or cabin occupied by Ellinor she saw had evidently and recently been used by ladies before. In the drawers of the dressing-glass were hair-pins, an old kid glove, a broken jet bracelet, and other etcetera. The door had a bolt on the inside. One night she found, to her terror, that this had been removed! Her heart grew sick within her; but, with the assistance of her attendant, she contrived to barricade the door most efficiently by placing a chair between it and her bed, on which, without undressing, she lay down with her temples throbbing like every other pulse with terror. All grew still in the cutter, and not a sound was heard but the ripples that ran alongside as she strained at her anchor--so very still that Ellinor was about to sleep, when a sound startled her, and she sprang up in dismay. Some one without was attempting to force her door. Who that some one was she doubted not; but, after a time, finding himself completely baffled, with a half-suppressed malediction, he went away. Ellinor lay awake in an agony of mind till morning dawned, when she opened the eyelet port of her cabin, and looked out. The fog was less thick, and a gasp of joy escaped her on seeing a boat with several men in it approaching. She shrieked to them for succour, and waved her handkerchief. On this they paused on their oars, and seemed to confer with each other, but, instead of drawing nearer, they laughed, kissed their hands to her in mockery, resumed their pulling, and vanished into the mist. Had any boat's crew actually boarded the yacht to make inquiries, Sleath was quite prepared to assert that the lady on board was his demented wife. With the fog resting on the Elbe, she could see nothing of the land, and as the cutter might--she thought--have shifted her position in the night--she knew not where she was. Altona, she thought, might be miles away, yet it was only a rifle-shot distant. But for its extreme protraction, she might, at times, have thought she was in a dream, and that all her mental misery was but a provoking and ghastly phantasmagoria. Days had elapsed now since her separation from Mary and Mrs. Deroubigne. They must, she knew, deem her dead--drowned--and might have gone away, she knew not where. Torn in this outrageous fashion from the society of the only persons she loved on earth! Exiled from happiness, doomed to probable disgrace and misconstruction of conduct.