The Liverpool streets were, as usual, muddy, crowded, and malodorous; but had they been bowers of Elysian bliss they could not be traversed by men with gladder hearts than those of Onslow and Jacynth when they set foot on English soil. The gladness was of a sober sort, and tinged, perhaps, by anxiety for the future and sorrow for the past; but there was a natural elation, brought about by the recollections of the peril that they had escaped, and triumph in the thought of Ronny’s restoration to his mother’s arms. They took a friendly leave of the captain and officers of the ship which had brought them to Liverpool, and then proceeded to the nearest hotel, where they intended to stay for a few hours only, in order to replenish their pockets and wardrobes. “Shall we telegraph to Fenella?” Frank asked wistfully; and Jacynth replied, in a brisker tone: “Why, of course, or she will be hearing some garbled version of the shipwreck story, and will imagine that she has lost Ronny forever.” “Don’t put too much in the telegram,” said Lord Francis, still in an uncertain voice. “‘Ronny safe and well; we are bringing him back to you to-day.’ And Jacynth, old man, sign it with both our names. She owes his safety to you rather than to me. Sign it by your name alone, if you like. I have no right [a little bitterly] to claim her gratitude.” Jacynth stood silent for a moment. Onslow was generous, but did he not, after all, speak truth? Surely he--Jacynth--had some right to Fenella’s gratitude; it was all that would be left to him when the husband and wife were reconciled. He felt sure that that reconciliation would take place, and no place would then be left for him save that of a useful friend. Yes, he was tempted for a moment to claim the whole of Fenella’s gratitude for the safety of her boy. But how could he let Frank Onslow be more generous than himself? He laughed slightly when that little pause was ended, and shook his head. “Lady Francis will question me pretty closely, and will soon find out where credit is due,” he said. “There is no question as to which of us has suffered most in her cause and Ronny’s.” And he signed the telegram with Onslow’s name alone. They had thought of going south that evening, but an unexpected delay arose. Ronny developed symptoms of a severe cold, verging on bronchitis, and the doctor, who was immediately summoned, declared that it would be the height of folly to let him travel for a day or two. “It’s nothing serious, but you cannot be too careful where children are concerned,” he said, “and the boy has had a chill. You, too [glancing at Lord Francis] don’t look quite fit for a long journey.” “I am fit for anything; all I want is to be with my wife again,” Onslow averred feverishly.