At length the _Shipping Gazette_ announced the Glenalpine as “homeward bound,” and in due time she was entered at the Custom House. George rushed with all speed to Mrs. Whitcher’s, and was met with open arms by his intended bride. She was not very demonstrative, it is true, but she was glad to see him, and as her face lit up at his approach, the poor weather-beaten tar forgot all about a fearful gale he had just came through and its attendant perils, and wondered whether Heaven could possibly be an improvement on Mrs. Whitcher’s front garden. The wedding took place (as previously arranged) the next day, and the young couple took up their quarters at their new abode, George voting the cottage a decided improvement on the ship and Agnes smiling with delight at the thought of leaving Mrs. Whitcher’s for ever. The ship remained in port about three weeks, and during that time the young couple lived not only figuratively but literally “in clover,” as the cottage they had taken was on the margin of a clover meadow, the sweet perfume of which pervaded the atmosphere with its health-giving gases, gladdening the hearts and adding to the vitality of all who came under its influence. But no earthly joys can last forever. George received a telegram ordering him to be in readiness to sail at any moment and finally an order for embarkation. With a heavy heart he parted from his young and beautiful wife, the hope, however, of returning a richer man, better able to make her comfortable, cheered his manly spirit, and, clasping her once more in his fond embrace, he jumped into the boat and gave the men the order to pull to his vessel. His wife stood on the shore wistfully gazing at the ship till she was no longer visible, then, with a heavy step, she turned slowly homewards. She thought of the long weary hours she would have to count ere she would see him again, and, although she had never loved him passionately, she felt his departure so keenly that she wept long and bitterly. For days she sat moodily looking out at the sea in the direction his vessel had taken, and a sad foreboding filled her heart that she would never see him more. Her comforter in her fitful hours was her maid, a French-Canadian girl, who had some years previously come to England in the capacity of stewardess on an ocean steamer, but, having taken fever during the vessel’s stay in port, and been conveyed to the hospital, she was obliged to take service till she could again procure a situation on board ship. This girl--she was named Arline Bertrand--was a native of Montreal, and at this time about twenty-four years of age and rather good-looking. Bending over her mistress she would say: “Ah, Madame, Monsieur Fairfield he come back _riche, riche_, with plentee nice thing for you!”