“Not yet. There is nothing enjoyable about this Cimmerian gloom, and yet it has its attractions. Florence, what is it that Tom Hood wrote about London fog?” “I only remember one line, and I'm not sure I can quote that correctly. I think it reads: 'No sun, no moon,' I should add 'no stars, no proper time of day.'” During the two days since leaving New York, Florence had been a creature of moods: sad, when she brooded over her trouble due, she felt sure, to another's act; light-hearted when she thought of the prospect of again meeting Reginald and having him prove his innocence. She had been spared newspaper publicity. Not for ten times the sum he had lost would the Hon. Nathaniel have had his daughter's name in the public prints. He was a lawyer, but it was his business to get other people out of trouble, and not to get his own family into it--which shows that great lawyers are not exempt from that very common human frailty, selfishness. Sounds of applause were borne to their ears. “Let us go in,” said Florence, “some one has been singing.” In the main saloon, all was merriment. Each passenger had faith in Capt. Robert Haskins, who had crossed the Atlantic hundreds of times. The _Altonia_ belonged to a lucky line, the luck that follows careful foresight as regards every detail, the luck that brings safety and success from constant vigilance. In the first cabin were more than two hundred souls--young and old, maids and matrons, young and middle-aged men, and a few beyond the allotted three score years and ten. Mlle. Carenta, a member of a troupe of grand opera singers, whom many had heard during the company's engagement in New York, arose from the piano amid cries of “bravo,” for her superb vocalism. She had sung Gounod's _Ave Maria_. “How sweetly she sang,” said Alice, as she touched her husband's arm to more fully draw his attention from the beautiful vocalist. “Don't you think so, Quincy?” “Divine,” was the reply. “One can almost fancy the doors of Heaven are open.” The cabin was warm--in reality, hot,--but Alice shuddered as she had when chilled by the mist and cold. She caught quickly at her husband's arm. “I wish we were safe at Fernborough Hall with Aunt Ella.” “And so do I, my dear, but the walking is poor, and we must put up with our present method of locomotion for a few days longer. Think of the good times we have had and those in store for us.” Alice reassured by the words and the accompanying pressure of Quincy's hand exclaimed: “How delightful it was in the country, and how I enjoyed our visits. I shall always love Mason's Corner as it was called when--” “I met my fate,” her husband added. “My line fell in a pleasant place--” “Don't call me a fish,” said his wife, as she smiled half reprovingly. “Well, we're on the water; if we were in it, we all might wish to be fish--or rather whales.”