‘There is your ticket, miss,’ said the booking-clerk, when he had filled in her name. ‘You see there is a plan of the cabin on the back. Your berth will be No. 12, and the _Pandora_ will probably sail with the early tide on Wednesday next, therefore it is advisable you should be on board not later than six o’clock on Tuesday evening.’ ‘Will--will--_all_ the passengers (the first-class passengers, I mean) go on board on Tuesday evening, too?’ asked Iris hesitatingly. ‘I expect so, miss. Most of them like to settle down before nightfall, as there is little assistance to be got when the ship’s starting.’ ‘And might I--do you think--go on board a little earlier than the others?--to avoid the bustle and confusion, I mean.’ ‘No; I wouldn’t do that, miss, if I were you,’ replied the clerk. ‘Not that they’d refuse to let you go aboard an hour or so previously; but they don’t care to see the passengers before six o’clock, when they’ll be all ready to receive you. I’d go a little later, rather than sooner, if I were you.’ ‘Thank you,’ replied Iris gently, as she turned away. ‘Queer street,--eh?’ said the clerk rapidly to his companions, before he was called to book by another customer. Meanwhile Iris hurried homewards with her ticket in her hand. It was all settled then. She had cast the die. She was to sail in the _Pandora_ with Godfrey. But she felt very nervous now it was done, and uncertain if she had acted rightly. She longed for a confidant to tell her trouble and her intentions to, and she found it, naturally, in Maggie, with whom she had promised to be explicit. ‘Lor’! mistress!’ cried the latter, as she opened the door to her, ‘where on earth have you been? How dusty and hot you do look. I began to think as you was lost.’ ‘Come in here, Maggie, and I will tell you all,’ said Iris, as she passed into the parlour. Maggie shut the door carefully, and followed her mistress, and stood beside her chair, looking the very incarnation of dirt and good humour. ‘Now, what is it, my pretty? Nothing new to vex you, I do hope.’ ‘It is something very serious, Maggie. Mr Harland told me last night that he was going to France till his affairs were settled, and he should be back again in a few weeks. I find it is not true.’ ‘Lor’! that’s no news. He’s always a-lying,’ said Maggie. ‘He left a letter behind him, by which I discovered he was thinking of going to New Zealand. I have been to the shipping office this morning, and I saw his name down in the passengers’ list. He sails on the 24th. He is going to desert us, Maggie.’ ‘What!’ cried the servant; ‘is he a-going right across the sea, and leave you here, without no money to buy bread or anythink?’ ‘Indeed he is, Maggie. Isn’t it base of him?--isn’t it cruel? I wouldn’t treat a dog that depended on me as he has treated me. What crime have I been guilty of, to be punished in so inhuman a fashion?--to be left to starve or to do worse! Oh, my God! it is too hard, it is too bitterly hard!’