“Madame want an hot-el? That hot-el a good one,” tapping the card with his finger, and dexterously turning the reverse side upward, where was set forth in English the advantages of a certain Antwerp inn. “Thank you, but we make no stay at Antwerp; we go straight on at once.” And she would have handed back the card. No, he would not receive it. “Madame might be wanting an hot-el at another time; on her return, it might be. If so, would she patronize it? it was a good hot-el; perfect!” Mrs. Channing slipped the card into her reticule, and searched her directions to see what hotel Hamish had indicated, should they require one at Antwerp. She found it to be the Hôtel du Parc. Hamish certainly had contrived to acquire for them a great fund of information; and, as it turned out, information to be relied on. Breakfast was to be obtained on board the steamer, and they availed themselves of it, as did a few of the other passengers. Some delay occurred in bringing the steamer to the side, after they arrived. Whether from that cause, or the captain’s grievance--want of wind--or from both, they were in later than they ought to have been. When the first passenger put his foot on land, they had been out twenty hours. Mr. Channing was the last to be removed, as, with him, aid was required. Mrs. Channing stood on the shore at the head of the ladder, looking down anxiously, lest in any way harm should come to him, when she found a hand laid upon her shoulder, and a familiar voice saluted her. “Mrs. Channing! Who would have thought of seeing you here! Have you dropped from the moon?” Not only was the voice familiar, but the face also. In the surprise of being so addressed, in the confusion around her, Mrs. Channing positively did not for a moment recognize it; all she saw was, that it was a _home_ face. “Mr. Huntley!” she exclaimed, when she had gathered her senses; and, in the rush of pleasure of meeting him, of not feeling utterly alone in that strange land, she put both her hands into his. “I may return your question by asking where you have dropped from. I thought you were in the south of France.” “So I was,” he answered, “until a few days ago, when business brought me to Antwerp. A gentleman is living here whom I wished to see. Take care, my men!” he continued to the English sailors, who were carrying up Mr. Channing. “Mind your footing.” But the ascent was accomplished in safety, and Mr. Channing was placed in a carriage. “Do you understand their lingo?” Mr. Huntley asked, as the porters talked and chattered around. “Not a syllable,” she answered. “I can manage a little French, but this is as a sealed book to me. Is it German or Flemish?” “Flemish, I conclude,” he said laughingly; “but my ears will not tell me, any more than yours tell you. I should have done well to bring Ellen with me. She said, in her saucy way, ‘Papa, when you are among the French and Germans, you will be wishing for me to interpret for you.’”