By sunset we were well past Winnebah; before I turned in, the lights of the shipping in Accra roadstead were visible; and when I came on deck at daybreak, the low shore was full in sight and the roaring surf of Adda was under our lee. I looked shorewards at the spouting breakers with solemn interest, for that snowy surf marked the mouth of the great Firráo (or Volta) River, whose upper waters I had crossed so recently, a fettered captive, fresh from the horrors of the mine. And then I thought of the rascally Salifu and of honest Isaaku and his family, friends and foes now scattered abroad in the great continent; and of poor Aminé, so tender, so loving and so true, sleeping under her cairn in the lonely forest. And so I grew pensive and sad, while I watched the dreary shore of the Bight of Benin creep along the horizon until Cape St. Paul lay well on our quarter. Then indeed I roused from my melancholy with a sudden burst of joyous anticipation; for the skipper had turned every rag out of the flag locker and was covering the brig from deck to truck with bunting. A German steamer tugged at her anchor ahead; busy surf-boats crawled to and fro like many-legged beetles; and plain on our port bow were the white roofs and soft green palms of Quittáh. CHAPTER XXVIII. IN WHICH I BID FAREWELL TO THE READER. The _Lady Jane_ glided up the bay, taking in sail as she went; and as square after square of creamy white canvas was gathered up into wrinkled festoons, the men began to crowd out on to the yards, and the hoarsely-carolled strains of “Old Horse” and “Paddy Doyle” mingled with the music of running rigging. As the brig opened out the whitewashed fort from behind the trees, she slewed up into the wind; the report of the little brass gun on the poop rang out sharply, and the chain thundered out through the hawse-pipe. No sooner was the anchor fairly down than the Captain commenced to spy inquisitively at the shore through his telescope, which he steadied against a shroud; nor were his observations long without result, for after about ten minutes’ spying he suddenly beckoned to me. “Pereira’s boat has put off,” said he; “I know her by her white paint.” “Is anyone coming with her?” I asked nervously. “I can’t see yet--Yes I can, by Jove!--Yes, the old man’s on board; I can make out his black coat and topper.” “No one else?” “No, I can’t see anybody else. No, there’s only one chair in the boat, and the old man’s sitting in it.” I drew a breath of relief. I should have been sorry for my first meeting with Isabel to take place in public, for my position with regard to her was one of some delicacy and difficulty. That she loved me I had little doubt; but yet, since I had spoken no word to her, I could not take her love for granted, especially after so long an absence, and I looked to our first meeting to put an end to my suspense.