“Who are you? where do you hail from? where are you bound?” “The Queen Charlotte, Brownloe master, from Bristol to Baltimore! Who are you?” “The Mercury, Captain Brande, from London to Baltimore.” Almost as she spoke she bore rapidly down upon the brig, came alongside, and without stopping, cheered and passed! But among the passengers that crowded the upper deck, Lord Montressor had recognized a man, whose appearance there sent all the blood from his heart to his brain! This man was Victoire L’Orient. How came he there? What was his object? He also was going to America—to Baltimore! Why? What should carry him thither? Was he going in pursuit of Estelle? Had he, perhaps, managed to keep up a system of espionage around her? Had he discovered her flight to America—to Baltimore? and would he pursue her thither and persecute her there? Before these questions had fairly formed themselves in the mind of Lord Montressor, the Mercury, with her crew and passengers, had cheered again, and passed far ahead. The Queen Charlotte, comparatively “slow and sure,” even when under full sail and before a fresh wind, and unflurried either by the example of the Mercury or the impatience of her own passengers and crew, kept on the even tenor of her way. All that afternoon and that night she sailed before a fair wind, and at sunrise the next morning entered the port of Fayal. There again she spoke the Mercury, that was just passing out of the harbor. And yet _once more_ the Queen Charlotte saw the Mercury. Alas! but we anticipate. The brig remained in the port of Fayal two days to discharge a portion of her cargo and to take in freight, as well as to obtain a supply of fresh provisions and water, and then again set sail. The weather continued fine, with little variation in the clear sky, fresh wind and gentle sea for several days, during which the brig made fair progress toward the Chesapeake. It was the morning of the twentieth of August that the man on the look-out cried: “Land ho!” and the distant points of Cape Charles and Cape Henry hove in sight. And an hour after noon the Queen Charlotte entered the Bay. That night the wind suddenly fell. And the next day—a day ever to be remembered on that coast—the brig lay becalmed under a burning sky, and upon a motionless sea. And now my mind shrinks from describing the events that made hideous that afternoon and night; shrinks both because of the deep horror one feels in reflecting upon those awful scenes of storm and devastation, when sky and ocean meet in deadly conflict, and fire, air and water—all the elements of organized nature seem resolving back into original “chaos and old night.”