Whereupon the negro ran up the red flag. That was the signal for the steamboat to stop for passengers. “Dey’s so few folks trabelin’ by water dis ’clement season ob de year dat it ’most don’t seem much use to ’ploy a flagman to come down yer twice a week to ’tend it. But dey do tell me, better come ten times for noffin dan to let one passenger be disappointed.” “But couldn’t passengers hoist the flag for themselves?” inquired the young man. “Dem as understood could; but it ain’t ebery stranger as comes down here to take de boat what knows dey is got to raise de flag. An’ ’less de flag is riz, de boat won’t stop, when it ain’t got nobody on board to land here. And now, young marse, de boat’ll be here in a foo minutes.” “David, dear, come here, please,” said Gloria, walking off to a little distance. He followed her and she placed in his hand a well-filled pocket-book. “What is this for?” he inquired. “For our expenses. I forgot to hand it to you before; forgot even that it would be needed; but you had better take it now, before we go on the boat.” He flushed crimson to the very edge of his black hair, as he gave her back the pocket-book and said: “No, lady, dear, I do not need it, indeed; I have saved something from years of labor, and I have plenty for our present needs.” It was now Gloria’s time to blush. “I beg your pardon, David Lindsay; I did not know, indeed I did not mean——” But he interrupted her by lifting her gloved fingers to his lips, bowing over them, and leading her back to the wharf. Then he went to the old flagman, and, giving him some money, engaged his services to take back Colonel de Crespigney’s boat to the Promontory pier, and leave it there. By this time the steamer was seen puffing its way towards the wharf. In a few minutes it drew alongside and stopped. A plank was thrown across to them and the two passengers went on board. A few minutes more, and the steamer was blowing her way up the bay for the mouth of the Potomac River. “You shall never repent this if my life can help it, lady, dear—though it is for you ’a leap in the dark,’” whispered David Lindsay to the grave-faced child that leaned upon his arm, as they stood alone together on the deck of the steamboat. “No,” said Gloria, “it is not a leap in the dark—it is a spring into liberty and light.” CHAPTER XVII WED ’Tis sure some dream, some vision vain, What I, the child of rank and wealth, Am I the wretch that wears this chain? G. M. L. The sky was gray, the wind high, and the sea rough, yet David and Gloria remained on deck. He had led her to a bench behind the wheel-house, and there they sat, partly sheltered from the blast.