“Come along, Helen,” said Mark, taking her arm and leading her down the gangway, good-naturedly intending to give the other couple a moment to themselves; but if it had been to save Alice’s life she could not have uttered a syllable. She intended to have said something--what, she scarcely knew--but her dry lips could not frame a sound, and they reached the carriage in dead silence. “Good-bye, Mark! Good-bye, Helen! Good-bye, Alice!” said her husband hurriedly. Alice turned on him a wistful glance, but a cold farewell was all she read in his stern dark eyes. In another second he was clanking up the gangway, a vision of a dark-blue uniform, a close-cropped brown head, and he was gone; and Alice leant back in her corner of the carriage, and gave way to a passion of weeping no longer to be restrained. CHAPTER X. GEOFFREY SPEAKS HIS MIND. Alice remained at the Mayhews’ for ten days, previous to going to Monkswood. She was very quiet and subdued in public, but in private her feelings were not so well under control. If the walls of her room could have spoken, the good folks downstairs would have been amazed at some of their revelations. They could have told how Alice flung herself on her bed the night the _Alligator_ sailed, and wept the bitterest tears she ever shed. “If he _is_ innocent,” she said, “he will never, never forgive me. What have I done? I have had the happiness of my life in my own keeping, and thrown it away with both hands.” Leaving Alice stretched on her bed, perfectly worn out and exhausted with crying, her face buried in the pillows to stifle her sobs, let us follow the _Alligator_ and see how her husband is getting on. They have rounded Finisterre, and are having, if anything, rather worse than the usual Bay weather. Tremendous Atlantic rollers are tossing the _Alligator_ about as if she were a huge toy. Now she yaws over, down, down, down to this side, now she slowly rights herself from an angle of at least 40°, and goes over to that. They are having a very bad time of it no doubt, for it has now commenced to blow, not half but a whole gale. All but those whose duty it is to remain on deck have gone below--all but one tall figure in a military great-coat, who is standing under the bridge, and keeping his equilibrium as best he can, considering that he is a _soldier_. He seems perfectly insensible to the lurching ship, the torrents of water sweeping the decks, the whistling of the wind through the rigging, and the weather-beaten sailors’ anxious faces. _Seems_ so only; in his heart he is saying: “If this goes on she will founder. It will be a terrible thing for all these poor fellows and their friends at home, but a rare piece of good luck for _me_.”