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IN TWO PARTS.
PART I.
CHAPTER I.
THE HOPE FAMILY — AN HISTORICAL SURVEY.

ON a fine May morning, in 3091, Marcia Hope walked into the breakfast-room of a handsome house in Guelph Square. There was an unusual look of thought on her face, which cleared away as she walked to the window. She opened it, and stepped out on to the balcony, commanding a view which if deficient in grand and striking features, is, in soft and smiling beauty, one of the most perfect in the world.

      Guelph Square was then comparatively new, having been built of the materials of the old Houses of Parliament, an inconvenient, ugly and unhealthy building, recently condemned and demolished by order of the ædile for Westminster.

      She looked over the embankment across the silver Thames to the banks beyond, studded here and there with Italian villas embowered in their quaint pretty gardens, then to the south-east quarter beyond, all sweet, fertile meadow land. Bermondsey, with its sub-tropical gardens, well protected from the east winds by grand forest trees, was conspicuous by its tender green. Then she glanced at the stately piles of Bethlehem College (built on the site of the hospital now no longer required), and at Southwark Palace, the residence of the Prince of Wales, and at the noble woods of Rotherhithe, planted to drain the low-lying lands adjacent to the now useless docks.

      She looked down upon the river. The air was very still, and the surface like a mirror, save where a slight splash, from which an ever-widening circle spread, showed where a salmon had snapped at an incautious fly.

      Anon, a stately swan, followed by her brood of homely-looking cygnets, destined one day to become types of loveliness and elegance like their parents, came slowly down the stream. This was a sight Marcia could never look on with indifference. The beautiful mother glided on, now dipping her head into the cool lucent water, now pausing and looking at her brood as if to assure herself of their safety and fondly stroking their grey downy backs with her bill, while they followed her, fussily chippering and papping at the broad leaves of the water-lilies.

      "Pretty creature, she can at least keep her young ones to herself," thought Marcia.

      The swan came to a halt nearly opposite to the spot where Marcia was standing, and summoning her brood soon disappeared among the osiers and rushes on the river bank. Marcia still paused, drinking in the sweet fresh air, and looking again at the lovely landscape spread out before her. A smile stole over her face.

      "How beautiful!" thought she. "What a country! How wisely, how nobly governed! To think that within the memory of living man, this beautiful river was a dark, turgid stream, redolent of dirt and foulness, and that yonder banks were hideous with ugly factories, and that the very air, now blowing fresh and pure from mid ocean, and laden with health and vigour, was poisoned by gas, smoke, and the very breath of thousands of wretched sickly human beings. What am I, what are thousands such as I, that I should interfere with laws that have made life so beautiful for the mass? And yet —"

      In spite of Marcia's philosophy something very like a sob rose to her throat. She hastily turned away, and busied herself with preparations for the family breakfast.

      The Hopes were a wealthy family, and among the first to avail themselves of improvements then new, but which to us seem old-fashioned and out of date. Marcia walked up to the tablet of household meals, a long enamelled strip let into the wall. On this were printed the names of the family, seven in number, and blank spaces beneath for five guests. The Hopes had three indoor servants, and the law, which so wisely restricts the members of a modern household to fifteen at most, had just been passed. The breakfast record ran thus:—

Mrs. Hope. — Tea and toast.
Mr. Hope. — Coffee and broiled bacon.
Miss Hope. — Coffee and bread and butter.
Master Frank Hope. — Coffee, hot sausages and fried potatoes.
Master George Hope. — Tea, pork-pie, fried potatoes.
Master William Hope. — Tea, cold ham, muffins.
Master Henry Hope. — Oatmeal porridge, broiled bacon.
Guests. (none.)

      Marcia touched a metal button opposite to each entry, and then, taking an egg from a basket on the sideboard, placed it beneath a wing of her favourite "electric hen."

      Her father had wished her to put aside this childish toy, but she clung affectionately to it, and being an only girl and much indulged, she was allowed to keep it, though in most other families it had long been relegated to things of the past.

      In her present serious mood she dwelt with pleasure on the recollections of her childhood that the culinary toy brought to her mind — the thrill of delight when the pretty hen gave her first cluck — and raising her wings, exposed to view an egg in its first or lightly-boiled stage — the second cluck for those who liked their eggs well done the third for hard-boiled.

      Presently the sound of machinery was heard. A central portion of the floor so neatly fitted that the juncture was imperceptible, descended and in a few minutes rose again, a completely furnished table. This everyday experience on the stage, and which is now adapted to the very poorest houses, was then only supplied to the rich. Seven chairs on noiseless castors were propelled towards the table, and the breakfast arrangements were complete. At the same time, a door, forming part of the panelling of the room, disappeared, moving sideways into the wall. In walked Mr. and Mrs. Hope — she leaning heavily on her husband's arm — followed at intervals by their four sons, scuffling, elbowing each other, and chattering as boys will.

      They were a very handsome family. Mr. Hope represented in perfection the typical Englishman of middle age, tall, erect, with bold, clear-cut features, and a physiognomy denoting a character equal to good or bad fortune.

      Mrs. Hope's appearance was not equally satisfactory. She was lovely, with the ripe beauty of a woman nearing her fortieth year, but there was a hunted, distressed look in her large eyes, and a quivering of the mouth, that told of mental trouble. She tried, but ineffectually, to eat, and at times started and looked round the table at her children with a terrified anxious glance. At such times, Mr. Hope would look at her half-lovingly, half-angrily, and in a low warning voice say, "Mary," when she would colour faintly and make an incoherent remark, or address herself again unsuccessfully to her breakfast.

      Marcia was, everyone said, "her mother over again," but she was slightly taller, and though thoroughly feminine and amiable in appearance, she had at times a resolute, not to say imperious, look, which she owed to her father.

      At the end of the table, opposite their mother, the four boys, fine, well-grown lads, were discussing some subject with evident heat. At last the noise became unendurable, and Mr. Hope, who had been vainly trying to fix his attention on the Times, at last laid it down and asked what they were talking about.

      A sudden silence fell on the quartet, and Mr. Hope repeated his question in a louder and more impatient tone. Frank, the eldest, in obedience to looks, nudges and whispered exhortations from his three brothers, answered reluctantly:

      "We were talking about the last selection, Pater."

      "Aye, indeed? And what may you have to say about that? Speak out, my boy," said his father, glancing at Mrs. Hope, who turned deadly pale and looked down at her breakfast cup.

      "We were saying it was so unjust."

      "A regular sell."

      "A jolly shame."

      "The most duffing thing out," said the four boys together.

      "Upon my word," began Mr. Hope angrily, and then checking himself — "Well, boys, it is disappointing to me to find you so ignorant of the most important of your civic and political duties, but after all, human nature is human nature, and the more complete a reform is, the less is the apparent necessity for its institution."

      Mr. Hope paused, and threw himself back in his chair, putting his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat. In this oratorical attitude he continued, while Mrs. Hope sat as if turned to stone. Marcia, with a heightened colour, looked attentive. The boys, frightened and bored, sat uneasily, gulping in turn as each thought he was unnoticed by his father, at food and drink, in imminent danger of choking.

      "It is incredible to you younger folks, no doubt," said Mr. Hope, "that London, now so beautiful, so clean, so healthy, so safe to traverse by day or night, was once foul, pestilential, and infested by gangs of criminals, who were only kept in some sort of order by bodies of ill-paid and over-worked police. When now in our most frequented streets you meet with, at most, twenty persons, all well-dressed, well-looking and healthy; you would, in the old times, before the present wise system of check to over-population was inaugurated, have met with as many thousands, most of whom were rushing hither and thither, striving frantically for the means of mere livelihood.

      "A frightful proportion of both sexes were decrepit, deformed or diseased, and starving. To deaden the pangs of hunger these unhappy beings would resort to unwholesome spirits, only to increase their sufferings in the end.

      "There are in the British Museum many pictures and engravings representing our largest and broadest thoroughfares five hundred years ago. Take the Strand, for instance, now so quiet and breezy. There was then a perpetual stream of vehicles passing up and down the road, dangerous alike to human and brute life. Omnibuses, cabs, carts, waggons, private carriages in enormous numbers, made traffic dangerous to a frightful extent. The roar and hum of so much life and motion were deafening, one might say maddening. In the City it was worse still.

      "Still the population continued to increase. In vain (I am speaking of England only at present, for the sake of conciseness) we poured streams of surplus beings into our colonies. In vain we raised the standard of examination fitting men and women for paying posts in their native country. Australia filled up, and even the vast Canadian Dominion, on which we had for centuries relied for supplies of grain and meat, became inadequate for the support of its own native population. The distress consequent on the terrible and protracted struggle for bare subsistence, through all England and its dependencies became so fearful and intolerable that many remedies were proposed and resorted to by our legislature, amongst others, partitions of property, re-distribution of land, and so forth. But the best and only true one, was the death-tale, or as we euphemistically put it, the selection, by which one in a certain number of citizens is called upon to die for the good of the rest, after the decennial census is taken, and the proportion of the human beings to the means of subsistence is ascertained. This law was passed in 2041, the population then having so enormously and mischievously increased in an inverse proportion to the supply of food, that the death-tale was fixed at the rate of one to two, now by the act 9 & 10 of our present king, chapter 19, it is fixed at one in every fifteen.

      "You know, of course, the first vict— ahem! — example was John, Duke of York, fifth son of Edward IX. This act of devotion (for the Royal Family are exempted if they choose to plead their prerogative) which has for ever endeared his memory to a grateful nation, was the more memorable as he was then on the eve of marriage with his cousin, the Princess of Cyprus.

      "Science was resorted to, to find out the most swift and painless mode of inflicting death. For a long time the favourite means was by applying an electric shock at the juncture of the spinal marrow with the brain, but ultimately a still more perfect means, that of —"

      Here Mr. Hope was interrupted in his harangue by a sudden movement on the part of Marcia, who hastily rose and went to her mother's assistance. Mrs. Hope had fallen back in her chair, deadly pale and with half-closed eyes. Marcia knelt down by her, and clasped her hands.

      "Open the window," said Mrs. Hope feebly.

      Mr. Hope rose, and threw up the sash.

      At a signal from their father the boys left the room discontentedly, casting loving, anxious looks at their insensible mother. Henry, the youngest boy, burst out crying as he went through the door, and was immediately set upon by his elders, who freely administered cuffs and nudges to their junior, with appellations of "young softy," "little duffer," and the like, their own eyes being suspiciously red.

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CHAPTER II.
WEAKNESS AND STRENGTH. A DRIVE. REDMAYNE'S IN 3091.

MRS. HOPE had been half-led, half-carried into her bed-room, and laid upon her bed. After applying the usual remedies for a fainting fit, Marcia saw her mother revive, but only to weep, and wring her hands most piteously. In vain Marcia tried to soothe her. Mrs. Hope continued to wail and moan, until suddenly rising into a sitting posture, she looked round the room, and seeing there was no one present but Marcia, beckoned to her to come nearer.

      "Marcia," said she, fixing her great earnest eyes on her daughter's face, "sometimes. I ask myself if you are a woman at all. How can you, young, pretty, and engaged to such a man as Edward, think of obeying this horrible law of selection?"

      "My dear mamma," answered Marcia smiling, "the answer is very simple. I obey it because it is the law."

      "A law! that takes you in the bloom of youth from father, mother, brother, friends, and the husband of your choice."

      "Marcia! Sit down here, dear, and listen to me. I was a very little girl when this dreadful law reached me, and knew nothing about its real meaning till years after. How well I recollect my father one day taking me in his arms and kissing me, and bidding me good-bye — he was going on a long journey, he said. My mother stood by, looking at him fixedly, quite silent, with her face drawn and white. They went out together; I never knew where, and she returned alone. Often and often I used to cry for my father, and ask mamma when he was coming back. She tried to comfort me by saying we should go to meet him some day, that he could not come to us. And in time I forgot to ask, and my grief wore itself out."

      Marcia had heard all this before, but out of deference to her mother, sat in the place assigned to her on her bed, while Mrs. Hope, with trembling fingers, fumbled in the bosom of her gown. From it she withdrew a small object, which she concealed in the hollow of her hand, and then went on with growing excitement:

      "Poor darling mamma! she tried to live for me, but it was too hard. The death of my father broke her heart, and she pined away gradually.

      "I was very young when I married your father, very thoughtless, and very little better than a school-girl. He was so grand, so much above me in intellect, I felt timid and almost hopeless of satisfying him. But I did my very best, and I am sure he will say I have been a good wife to him. He does, now doesn't he, Marcia dear?" And the poor nerveless creature looked wistfully and imploringly in her daughter's face.

      "I am sure papa does you justice, mamma," said Marcia evasively.

      Mrs. Hope went on, more cheerily.

      "Then you came to me, dear, and, oh! how happy I was! You were such a dear, fat, rosy, little baby, and I could talk and tell all my silly thoughts to you, and you would laugh and crow in my face, or sometimes you would look grave and serious, and coo at me, as if you understood me. Your father would get impatient and angry at what he called my simpleton's ways. He is so grave, so wise! But I was happy enough until one day your aunt Bessie called to see me with death written in her face; the death-tale had fallen on Charles, her only child. Then the whole thing showed itself before me. I felt a horrible clutch at my heart. It has never gone. I feel it still. It will never go."

      "It is most strange," the poor thing went on maundering, "I went twice, and quite mechanically to draw our vanishing-tickets. But they were all blanks, excepting once" — shuddering.

      "Excepting once! Mamma," said Marcia, thinking with terror that her mother was raving.

      "Yes — yes," replied Mrs. Hope hurriedly. "I must not talk of that, it was horrible — horrible. I escaped by a miracle. Your father forbade me to speak of it, I forgot — where was I? Oh! well, ever since Charles's death, I have always felt the selections might fall on any of my own children, and the birth of each successive one has been a torture and a horror to me."

      "Mamma," said Marcia, taking advantage of a pause, during which Mrs. Hope lay back exhausted, "of course it is very painful to lose one's relations, but still, we must all die."

      "Yes," replied her mother, "whenever our time comes, and if I saw my children sickening for death, I could spare them, I know I could, but you are all so handsome, so strong, so healthy. Marcia! a mother's heart cannot reason in your cold-blooded way."

      "Well, mamma, what would you suggest?"

      "I am going to tell you. Your father suspects me. He watches all my movements, and for a long time has not trusted me with any but the smallest sums. But here," showing a little case, "is something he does not know of. They are my aunt's pearls, and have been valued at two thousand pounds. My brother will make a false return of your selection and cremation, and with the money arising from the sale of these, you can escape to —"

      Marcia interrupted her.

      "Do not, pray, dear mamma, ever speak of this again. I can never think of evading the laws of the country in which I live, and — forgive me for saying so — in a manner equally silly and disgraceful."

      "Then go — go!" cried her mother, wildly, and turning from Marcia, she buried her face in her pillows, her whole frame shaking with convulsive sobs.

      Marcia stood for some time beside her mother, trying reason and persuasion by turns, but in vain. Mrs. Hope raised her head once, and exclaimed, "I have opened my whole heart to you, but you have none — none!" She hid her face again, and waved her daughter off as she leaned over her.

      In great discouragement Marcia was about to leave the room, when her mother recalled her.

      "You have seen my weakness," she said in a tone of wounded tenderness and dignity, "do not betray me to your father. My life is bitter enough."

      Too distressed to speak, Marcia bowed her head in sign of obedience. She was deeply mortified at what she could not with all her habitual deference for her mother, but characterize as selfish weakness.

      "How painful to have one's confidence in a parent shaken," said she to herself as she closed the door. "Thank Heaven I can always look up to my father."

      Passing through the hall, her eye fell on the "Table of Daily Engagements" where the words appeared —

      "Miss Hope, Study."

      She found her father pacing gloomily up and down. As she entered he turned and said abruptly:

      "Marcia. I have grave cause of displeasure with you."

      "With me, papa?"

      "Yes, with you, Marcia. Knowing as you must your mother's lamentable weakness of character, you should help me in every way to uphold and strengthen her. Your conduct has been the reverse of this, as you very well know. Your display of petulance and ill-temper when you drew your vanishing-ticket, was not lost on me, and it awakened in your mother the revolt against the law that is always slumbering in her mind."

      "Father," said Marcia, deprecatingly, "I assure you, I was only annoyed for the moment, thinking I should miss knowing if Frank passed his exam."

      "Frank will do very well without you," said her father coldly. "The important and pressing subject is this. I am in perpetual fear of your mother being summoned and tried for incivism, and I have only just succeeded in obtaining a medical certificate that her mind has been unsettled since her attack of nervous fever after Henry's birth. Do not inflict on me the misery of seeing another member of my family suspected of inci—"

      "Oh, pray don't, papa," cried Marcia, thoroughly subdued, "it is too dreadful. Don't repeat the word; I will do anything to remove the bad impression I have made on you, by a fit of passing ill-temper."

      "I speak of positive events, not mere impressions," persisted Mr. Hope, moodily. "See how the spirit of dissatisfaction and insubordination spreads. You noticed the rebellious attitude and remarks of your brothers this morning. I found them still pursuing the subject instead of going to school, and Henry crying like a girl. I had to resort to stringent measures to bring him to reason."

      Marcia winced. She knew the stringent measures alluded to were of the corporal kind. With all her admiration for her father, his notions of domestic discipline tried her powers of acquiescence to the utmost. The idea of her gentle, timid, little Henry being caned for crying over his mother, was after the scene of the morning too much for her.

      "There, there," said Mr. Hope magnanimously, seeing the effect he had produced, "we will say no more about it."

      "But, papa, there is something I hardly like to mention —"

      "Tell me, my dear."

      "Well, then, I am afraid Edward is not quite — quite — I have heard him say, the present law should be reformed. He says the selection should be made from the aged and diseased, not indiscriminately, and taking in the young and healthy, and — and — the beautiful."

      "Raw theory — mere young man's folly," said Mr. Hope. "Besides, my child, we have to deal with the law as it is, not as Mr. Edward Vansittart would have it. Now run away, child, get on your hat, and we will have a drive, and choose your selection dress at Redmayne's."

      Marcia was quickly dressed for a drive, and after looking in at her mother, who seemed to be quietly sleeping, joined Mr. Hope in his electric phaeton.

      They drove together through the beautiful meadows surrounding St. Mary's le Strand and St. Clement Danes.

      "Your grandfather," remarked Mr. Hope, "could recollect these beautiful churches hemmed in by tall, ugly houses, made more hideous still by enormous advertising placards. As the population of London was reduced, the houses were judiciously cleared away. There was a proposal made to clear away the churches themselves, but their beauty and picturesque situation happily saved them."

      They approached St. Paul's, and at a good point of view, Mr. Hope stopped the vehicle.

      "Here again," said he, "is an instance of the wisdom of our present judicature. This magnificent structure, the second — some say the first — in the world for sublimity, might, two hundred years ago, be fairly said to be lost to the public. The best view, and that but a poor one, was to be had from a street now cleared away, Watling Street, which has bequeathed its name to Watling Park. This noble cathedral was, so to speak, hemmed in on every side by warehouses. Thousands, I may say millions, of persons must have passed it daily without raising their heads to mark its beauties, and, indeed, if they had, would probably have had a crick in the neck for their pains."

      "It was very foolish to build things where nobody could see them," replied Marcia absently. She had given only half attention to her father's observations. In spite of herself her mother's words, "Sometimes I ask myself if you are a woman at all," rang in her ears.

      Remarking his daughter's abstraction, Mr. Hope turned back, and having taken a way round, drove into Bond Street, lately rebuilt on the new plan, which now allows more room on the ground floor, and restricts the height of dwelling-houses to two storeys.

      They drew up at Redmayne's.

      Mr. Hope, who was a connoisseur in feminine attire, asked to see various rich materials.

      "This should have been your mother's task, by rights," said he, sighing, "but unhappily —"

      "I beg pardon, sir," said the handsome, faultlessly-dressed gentleman behind the counter, "are you choosing the materials for this lady's selection dress, may I ask?"

      Mr. Hope gave assent.

      "Then perhaps the lady will step this way and look at our wax representations while you peruse the papers and magazines."

      Marcia followed a young woman who appeared at a signal, and entered the "selection" show-room.

      It was a large, lofty apartment, lighted from above. A splendid organ occupied one end, presided at by a famous master, who played various pieces, all of a solemn character.

      Around the three other sides, against the wall, were a number of couches, on which were lying waxen figures, representing females of every age. Those in extreme youth were robed in white, the old in black or sombre colours, and those at intermediate ages in every tint. The draperies were mostly woollen fabrics, but some of silk.

      The workmanship was for the most part of a common-place order, recalling the figures displayed in hair-dressers' windows. There was an attempt here and there at individual likeness of the persons represented, but in most instances it was frittered away in unmeaning prettiness.

      Marcia looked at them all with indifference until she came to one, towards which the show-woman led her impressively, while the organist played with exquisite feeling, "Waft her, angels, to the skies."

      "This is our masterpiece, madam, Lady Blanche Genista. We supplied her for the last selection; she is just your style."

      Marcia started as if she had suddenly come upon her own reflection. The figure had evidently been modelled by a great artist, who had given to wax the expressiveness of real breathing life. The figure was that of a girl of twenty, lying on one side, asleep, with a smile on her lips, as if dreaming happily. One arm was curved under the head, the other lay along the side, the exposed hand holding a sprig of white broom.

      "Just your style, madam," repeated the show-woman, "and your very image! Shall I take the order for the dress?"

      It was of blue brocade flowered with silver.

      Marcia started. She had been so absorbed as to have forgotten all save the image before her. Another customer entered. She walked reluctantly away to rejoin her father, followed by the show-woman, who carried samples of stuff. Lady Blanche's robe was of great price, but Mr. Hope was generous. The choice was made, measures taken, and in high good humour on the one side, and quiet satisfaction on the other, father and daughter returned to Guelph Square.

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CHAPTER III.
A RETROSPECT.

"LOOK here, Marcia," said Mr. Hope to his daughter when, after luncheon, she was seated at needlework, "here is an account of the last decennial selection but one."

      He held out a dingy copy of the Morning Post.

      "I kept it," he resumed, "because it was the last occasion of the Government officials making use of a comparatively clumsy process instead of the prompt and painless one now in use."

      Marcia took it with interest.

      It was the Morning Post for the 21st June, 3071, and the article to which her father drew her attention was headed:

"IMPOSING CEREMONY AT THE WEST END.
"PROCESSION OF THE WESTMINSTER CONTINGENT OF IMMO­LANDS. STRIKING SCENES. PAINFUL INCIDENT."

      And went on:—

      "At an early hour on Monday morning, the whole population of London was astir and pouring an ever-increasing stream of holiday-makers into the streets.

      "From every quarter, well-dressed, good-humoured citizens converged towards one point, the stately Chapel of Martyrs, with its electrophorium attached, in Victoria Street, Westminster.

      "Towards eleven o'clock, a.m., a brilliant cortège comprising every vehicle in use, from the stately equipage of the Duke of Birmingham, with the well-known white and gold liveries, to the humble hired hansom, was in motion. By previous agreement, the starting point was from Buckingham Gate, the pas being taken by the ducal party.

      "Owing to the admirable arrangements of the police no accident of any kind, not even the slightest hitch, occurred to the long train of carriages as it slowly passed along Buckingham Palace Road, past Victoria Station, and finally stopped one by one at the entrance of the Martyrs' Chapel.

      "With a kindly indulgence of a natural curiosity, the Immolands had all arrived in open carriages, and an excellent view of the occupants was obtained. We need not say every window, as they passed, was lined, every balcony crowded, every roof — nay, even every chimney-stack — was loaded with eager gazers.

      "His Grace of Birmingham's carriage was, as we have said, the first in order, and a hum of admiration arose from the spectators as the young and lovely Duchess of Birmingham with her three charming girls alighted. She exchanged a few words with her husband, who gaily waved his hand in adieu to her and her children, as he drove off en route, we hear, for Paris.

      "Her Grace, as well as the Ladies Eva, Clara, and Marie Snowe, was attired in white and silver, the robes being cut in the style called à l'immolée.

      "The tall and stately figure of Sir Eustace Dyke next engaged public attention. He was accompanied by Lady Dyke, who wore a robe similar to that of her sister, the Duchess of Birmingham, with the addition of a light blue sash with floating ends.

      "As this is the first contingent of Immolands that has offered itself for ten years, we will explain for the benefit of the younger portion of the public, that citizens can volunteer to accompany their 'selected' friends. By so doing, they earn for any individual they name an exemption from the next drawing of lots. The female substitutes adopt as a distinguishing badge, a blue scarf, worn as a sash. The men wear a broad blue ribbon, similar to the Order of the Garter, but coming from the right shoulder instead of from the left.

      "Of substitutes of the fairer sex, we noticed several, but of the sterner only one came under our observation. He was a man considerably advanced in life, and who, being crippled by chronic rheumatism, had to be carried into the chapel.

      "In the chancel of the Martyrs' Chapel, awaiting the Immolands, stood, in full ceremonial dress, the Sheriff of London, the Coroner for Westminster, and numerous other officials, amongst whom we noticed Sir Bartimæus Robinson, M.D., and Drs. Barnby and Vyse.

      "At five minutes to eleven the procession began to form. The officials walked in first, two by two. Then came the Immolands, forming two long rows, the men on the right, the women on the left hand.

      "As they entered the chapel, the two lines deployed right and left, the organ, meanwhile, pealing out an inspiriting voluntary under the skilful hands of Sir Robert Skene, Mus. D. As the last chords died faintly away, every Immoland was seated, and the carved oak stalls extended in triple tiers on each side were quite full.

      "The service was choral, adapted from Handel's 'Theodora,' and (a circumstance which lent a peculiar pathos to the occasion) the choir was composed entirely of Immolands. No mere words can convey the touching sweetness, combined with grandeur, of this imposing and yet simple ceremonial. At times we ourselves felt overpowered by the emotions it called forth, and at each pause, as the censers swung to and fro, sending forth their perfumed breath, ascending in blue clouds, hiding the groined roof, we could imagine the souls of the devoted citizens rising with it, borne aloft to their heavenly dwelling.

      "At the close of the service (a short one), a prayer was offered up by the Bishop of Westminster, the congregation reverently kneeling, and at its termination, all rose, and leaving their stalls, formed as before into two rows.

      Again the organ poured forth a volume of magnificent music, a march composed for this memorable occasion by the gifted organist. To its grand and lofty rhythmic measure, the Immolands, male and female, the first headed by Sir Eustace Dyke, the latter by the Duchess of Birmingham, walked towards the east end of the chapel, where the doors had been thrown open. "Gracefully and in perfect time, the two lines moved on, until all had disappeared within the electrophorium, followed, as they had formerly been preceded, by the sheriff, the four State physicians, and attendant officials. The two doors were then closed, the organ ceased to vibrate, and a solemn, heart-thrilling silence, terrible because of its suddenness, reigned in the immense building, where a few seconds before all had been instinct with life and melody.

      "The silence endured for the space of half-an-hour, when the great bell of the Martyrs' Chapel (which, we must remind our readers, is the largest in the world) began to toll.

      "From the belfry of every church and chapel throughout the United Kingdom (the authorities being warned by telegraphic communication) tolled forth a repetition of the solemn message, which was also cabled to our colonies and dependencies in every part of the world.

      "Grand thought! that the mighty heart of our vast dominion was at that hour thrilled to its inmost core by admiring sympathy with six hundred devoted souls, victims of a heroism as great as that which to this day ennobles the plain of Marathon. At the sound of the death-bell every man uncovered his head, the strongest and most stoical amongst us felt a strange constriction of the throat, and women and girls burst into irrepressible weeping. Several of the sparse number left in the chapel fainted, and immediately received the professional attentions of the doctor and his assistants, who always attend at the Martyrs' Chapel in readiness for these frequent contingencies.

      "All being now over, the congregation slowly dispersed, and the chapel was empty.

      "By the kindness of the authorities a few members of the press were admitted into the electrophorium when the doors were flung open to admit the coroner and his secretary. The first hall we visited was that allotted to the Immolands of the sterner sex. All were leaning back in their respective high-backed seats, as if in profound slumber.

      "The coroner walked from one to the other, making as he did so a formal notification of the deaths by electricity of each.

      "He then passed into the female department. The eye instinctively sought for the form of the Duchess of Birmingham, who with her three lovely daughters formed a group of the most pathetic beauty. Her eldest daughter had clasped her mother round the neck, and drawn her to herself, as if whispering some childish confidence. The two younger were lying at her feet, their heads in her lap, and clinging to each other.

      "We observed the great sculptor, Sir Edgar Forbes, making a sketch of this beautiful group. We understand that his Grace of Birmingham has commissioned Sir Edgar to immortalise in marble the memories of his beloved wife and daughters, united in death.

      "As we passed on, pausing before other beautiful and affecting figures, a painful and, in the annals of the present reign, an unprecedented incident occurred.

      "A slight moan proceeded from one of the death-like figures of the Immolands.

      "Under the circumstances, it was an occurrence calculated to shake the stoutest nerves. The cry was given by a young girl, whose sumptuous dress and refined appearance denoted her to be a person of consequence. She opened her eyes, trembled violently, and looked about her with a terrified, bewildered expression.

      "A hurried consultation between the officials took place, as to whether a second shock should not in common humanity be administered. The sheriff, however, having explained that his powers did not extend beyond the application of one, the poor, half-moribund young lady was placed in the care of one of the matrons whose duty it is to watch the corpses of the Immolands until they are removed to the State Crematorium.

      "An official present undertook to make searching enquiries as to the name and residence of the hapless sufferer, and to restore her to her friends as soon as possible.

      "We also earnestly trust that an enquiry may be speedily made by the Government into the cause of this scandalous miscarriage of justice and breach of all public decorum.

      "We have heard, though the remark may be premature, that the young lady in question is nearly allied in blood with one of the highest officials present, and that the failure was not unintentional.

      "The public may trust in us. We will keep our eyes open in its interest, and guard its sacred rights."

      "How very interesting," said Marcia, as she laid the paper down.

      "I wonder who the young girl was who escaped so narrowly. Did she recover?"

      Mr. Hope made no answer.

      Marcia reflected.

      Her mother's broken sentences recurred to her.

      "That girl was mamma herself," thought she.

      On recurring to the subject, however, her father showed so much irritation that she wisely forbore further question.

---

CHAPTER IV.
AN EVENING "EN FAMILLE." THE VANISHING TICKET.

THAT evening Marcia had a trying task before her. Mrs. Hope still kept her room. om. Mr. Hope was gloomy and silent. The boys missed their mother, and had a resentful recollection of the morning's lecture and its sequel. Marcia suggested different games, which they tried in turns, and quarrelled over. They gave them up, and rebellious, fretful and noisy, preferred sitting together, cuffing and teasing each other.

      To her father, Marcia proposed a game of chess. The challenge was accepted, and they were soon deep in the game. The room in which they were sitting, and in which it was their custom to assemble when alone of an evening, had been planned and designed by Mr. Hope himself. It was of dark oak, elaborately carved, of octagon shape and lighted from above only by a dome-shaped double skylight. The outer skylight was of colourless glass, the inner of intense blue. The latter was in eight half-clove-shaped compartments arranged like venetian blinds, which could at will be raised or lowered, and when lowered, fell together into a groove concealed within the cornice. If the day were dull or cloudy all were lowered so as to admit the greatest amount of light possible from the sky. If the light were too strong, one or more were raised according to the place of the sun. At night a flood of electric light was poured in, between the double roof, and a singular effect was obtained by the blue glass being spangled with tiny stars, white, red and yellow.

      In the centre of each wall was a panel, in which were framed admirable copies of the finest portraits in the world. Monna Lisa and "la belle ferronière," with their inscrutable faces, the sunny Raffaelle and del Sarto, the sad Mantegna, and the arch lady in the "Chapeau de paille" filled six of these panels, the remaining two were destined to receive the portraits of Mrs. and Miss Hope, but Mr. Hope had not been able hitherto to satisfy himself in the choice of an artist. Round each central panel, like satellites round a planet, were smaller panels containing rare bits of colour or design. The carving, representing groups of fruit, flowers, and "amorini" had been designed expressly to form a setting for these.

      The room was not a favourite one with the Hope family. After all his expenditure of money and thought, Mr. Hope like many others found his family were the last to appreciate what he fondly expected to be hailed with acclamation. They all complained of it in different wording. The boys told their sister, "those gloomy old 'blokes' seemed to follow them about all over the shop with their eyes, which made a fellow feel creepy, you know," an expression of opinion which Marcia good-naturedly kept to herself.

      The game had proceeded for half-an-hour.

      "Check to your queen, Marcia," said her father.

      At this moment, a portion of the carved wall moved aside, and the telephonic announcement "Mr. Vansittart" was followed by the entrance of a tall, dark young man, about eight-and-twenty.

      A shout of delight from the boys, and a rush at the newcomer by the three younger ones, showed the favour with which Edward Vansittart was regarded by them. Frank, who considered himself past the age of demonstration, contented himself by looking on and grinning a welcome.

      "I say, Edward, when are you going to take us to the play?"

      "There's a cricket-match to come off to-morrow between our fellows and the Westminster lot."

      "Hang your plays and cricket, you come and see me try my new pony."

      "Let me speak to your father and sister, boys," said Edward, laughing, and then, his assailants pressing him on all sides, and clinging to him, he caught up George and William, and put them one on each side of the mantel-piece, beside the clock, and then swung Henry on to the book-case.

      Having thus disposed of them, shouting and laughing, he advanced towards Marcia and Mr. Hope, with both of whom he quietly shook hands.

      "Do you see the danger my poor queen is in?" said Marcia. Edward looked gravely and consideringly at the board.

      "Advance your knight," said he, indicating the move, "or stay, Marcia, I'll finish your game, if Mr. Hope will have me."

      "Do so, and I will go and look at mamma, she is not well this evening."

      While she was speaking, the panel again moved aside, and Mrs. Hope stood there, her figure relieved against a dark background.

      Familiar as Edward was with her appearance, he was startled by her radiant beauty, which struck him this evening as if he had seen it for the first time. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes shone with a feverish light. She was draped in a loose crimson velvet gown, and that and the scarf of heavy black lace folded about her head and shoulders, threw out the brilliant red and white of her complexion.

      "I am sorry to hear you have been ill," said the young man, advancing towards her.

      "I am much better now, Edward," was the reply, given in a faltering voice; "don't let me disturb you," waving her hand towards the table at which Mr. Hope was seated.

      Edward first went to release his young prisoners with the whispered caution: "Be quiet, boys, your mother is not well," and then with a strong effort, concentrated his attention on his game.

      But throughout, Edward was haunted by a feeling that Mrs. Hope was looking at him. He could not forbear glancing round at her.

      She was seated on a sofa opposite to the table, with her four boys grouped about her, Henry with his curly head on her lap, and Marcia standing behind her. Her great deer-like eyes sought Edward's with a yearning, piteous gaze, that smote him with intense compassion. He turned away hastily.

      The game was finished. Marcia's queen had been extricated from her perilous position, and Mr. Hope was after a sharp struggle defeated. He was proud of his skill as a chess-player, and resented Edward's victory accordingly.

      He sat for some seconds in moody silence, then in a rasping voice remarked:

      "Oh, by the way, Vansittart, Marcia drew her vanishing ticket, last week."

      "So I heard," replied Edward carelessly, "and by an odd coincidence, I have drawn mine also. It is singular, being in different parishes. Here it is."

      He drew it from his waistcoat pocket. It was a white card, with 15 on one side, and the words: "Pro salute patriæ suum caput vovit"^* on the other.

* Cicero, De Finibus.

      It was handed round the room and compared with Marcia's, with which it corresponded in every respect.

      "There is another singular coincidence in the matter, Mrs. Hope," said Edward. "Mr. Clifden and Lady Barbara have drawn their vanishing tickets also, and not wishing to leave their children alone in the world, are going to take them in their yacht Kriemhild, and drown themselves in a family party. They want Marcia and me to join them."

      "How about the crew?" asked Mr. Hope.

      "Oh, they are all selected too, and know nothing about boats or sailing. I believe I am the only one of the crew that knows the bow from the stern. The servants, too, together with Miss Bates the governess, and a clergyman, a cousin of Mr. Clifden's, have likewise drawn their vanishing tickets —"

      "And the yacht?"

      "Has been built on the model chosen by the Admiralty for speed and safety. They gave seventy thousand for it."

      "Capital!" exclaimed Mr. Hope, "it is therefore safe to sink."

      "Yes, or blow up, or both. There is a great advantage, you know, in our going in the Kriemhild. We shall escape a lot of wearisome, red-tape nonsense by it. As we go on board, an officer examines our vanishing tickets, reports us as lost at sea, and there's an end to all formalities."

      Mr. Hope, a staunch supporter of the Government, felt inclined to take up and resent the expression "red-tape nonsense," but he was not insensible to the prestige that would attend Marcia's immolation in the company of such distinguished individuals. He listened in silence therefore, while Edward went on, this time addressing himself to Mrs. Hope.

      "I believe I shall have a scolding from Lady Barbara. This is quite unofficial of course. She will call on you herself, and request the honour and pleasure and so forth. I ought not to have anticipated her."

      "Marcia ordered her 'selection' dress to-day," said Mrs. Hope with an evident effort. "Show Edward the pattern, dear."

      Marcia took from her work-drawer a square of the brocade that had formed Lady Blanche Genista's robe, and with sweet, innocent coquetry, laid it against her soft cheek. It was the very tint to suit her alabaster lamp-like colouring, that rarest of complexions that accompanies the true auburn hair, with purple shades.

      Edward looked up at her for one moment, and again the sight of marvellous loveliness affected him with a subtle pain. All this wealth of beauty, charm and ineffable sweetness! What was to become of it?

      The boys had been dismissed to bed, and Edward rose to take his leave.

      "You will have a pleasant walk," said Mr. Hope, pushing aside a shutter (which like the door slid into a groove in the wall) and letting in a flood of moonlight. The moon was at full, and shone down on the meadows, the river, and on the pleasure-craft anchored for the night. Ever and anon, however, a pretty sailing boat shot past, her sails and spars tricked with silver.

      While Mr. Hope was looking out at the river, Edward went up to Mrs. Hope, and bade her good-night.

      The poor lady looked up in his face, with the same expression of agonised entreaty that had before moved him so much. He took her feverish hand in his, and for a moment she leant her throbbing head on his shoulder:

      "Oh, Edward," she whispered imploringly.

      The young man, touched to his very heart, passed his disengaged arm round her, and held her to him.

      "Trust me," he said. In another moment he was gone.

---

PART II.
CHAPTER I.
DOUBTS. A LOVERS' QUARREL.

A MONTH had passed since the events recorded in our last.

      The Kriemhild was well on her way — but whither? Lady Barbara Clifden stood on the deck, a pretty little woman, somewhat worn and faded for her seven-and-twenty years.

      Marcia and Edward, tall, stately and handsome, were at her side.

      Mr. Clifden, as became the owner of a yacht, was a vile sailor, and had been prostrate with sea-sickness, ever since the Kriemhild had left Torquay.

      The Rev. Charles Dobbs, a third guest, was also helpless from the same cause.

      Miss Bates the governess, and the two nurses had given up from the moment of the Kriemhild leaving shore. The young Clifdens, three in number, were lying about on rugs in various languid attitudes.

      "Dear me," said Lady Barbara, "it is time to give Miss Bates her broth, and see how Fanny and Sarah are. Excuse me, Marcia," and the kind little lady hurried away.

      Marcia and Edward were thus left to take care of the children. The rest of the crew were at chess or ship-billiards. As the Kriemhild had from the first proved utterly unmanageable, they very properly forbore to trouble themselves about navigation, and as they said, "took it easy."

      "Edward," said Marcia, having taken the youngest child on her lap, "I have something important to say to you. I am not at all satisfied with the way things are going on."

      "No?" said the young man, uneasily, adjusting or pretending to adjust the sight of a day-glass.

      "No, indeed! Here we are in mid-ocean, and I see no sign of any attempt being made to realise the object of our voyage."

      "The object? Are you certain, Marcia, that you know what it is?"

      "Quite certain. We came here to drown ourselves, or be drowned, in obedience to the law of selection."

      "Oh, well, you know, we have had a long spell of fine weather up to now. It can't last much longer, and then —"

      Here Bobby Clifden began to howl, greatly to Edward's relief, though he was fond of children.

      That night Marcia lay awake revolving many thoughts in her mind. She had noticed that the Kriemhild was going but half-speed, and there was a look of anxiety on the faces of all the crew, intensified on those of Lady Barbara and Edward very unlike their jovial and somewhat reckless unconcern.

      Suddenly the Kriemhild brought to, and she heard hurried footsteps over her head. Then the yacht was hailed in a strange voice.

      After an interval she moved on. Marcia pondered. She had not heard of anyone being expected on board.

      The next morning their breakfast party was increased by a keen, intelligent-looking man, whom she had once met in her father's house, "the Edison of the thirtieth century," as he was called, a noted inventor.

      It was clear to her that this was the mysterious personage who had boarded the Kriemhild the night before, but no allusion to the incident or to the cause of his arrival was made by any of the party.

      This attempt, as Marcia deemed it, at mystification, only added to her growing irritation with Edward Vansittart and the Clifdens.

      In the course of the day, she passed them all in earnest conversation. They were laughing, and she caught the words, "utterly unseaworthy," and "Davy Jones's locker in a few days."

      At Brest, the Kriemhild put in for a week, while to Marcia's intense indignation she underwent certain alterations. Here the modern Edison took leave of them.

      Marcia could endure it no longer. At the first opportunity she spoke to Edward of her suspicions, and openly taxed him with breach of faith towards her and her father.

      "You cannot deny it," she said; "you have had Professor Newton here to make the Kriemhild safe, when it was perfectly understood between us, that she must go to pieces at the first contrary wind."

      "I have no intention of denying it, Marcia, and have only been awaiting a favourable opportunity of declaring it, and at the same time of telling you another fact — that it was by my suggestion that you were invited by Lady Barbara to make this trip to avoid the approaching selection."

      "And you call yourself an honourable man," cried the angry girl, "and you have by your own admission, been for more than a month, not only telling, but acting a series of untruths."

      "This I admit also. But although I am no casuist, Marcia, I believe there are few men calling themselves honourable or otherwise, who would hesitate to tell or act any number of — well, call them lies, to save the life of an utter stranger, to say nothing of the being dearest to him on earth."

      There was something in Edward's voice as he made this, for him, unusually sentimental speech, that touched Marcia in spite of herself. She was silent, and he, with a man's want of tact, at once proceeded to spoil the effect of what he had just said; he went on:

      "Besides, I had to choose between deceiving you and your father, or rather allowing you to deceive yourselves, or letting Mrs. Hope break her heart. I gave her my word, to save her only daughter at all hazards, if possible."

      "Oh, my mother," said Marcia with the slightest possible inflection of scorn in her voice. "I might have guessed her influence was at work."

      "Marcia!" said Edward reproachfully, "I don't like to hear you speak so of Mrs. Hope. She is an angel."

      "I beg your pardon, but I do not want you to teach me how to speak of my mother. Do not think to evade the subject by talking to me as if I were a child."

      She took a few steps and then returned, and spoke with increased anger.

      "You and Barbara are most unjust, most unreasonable. Your fondness for mamma seems to blind you and swallow up every other feeling. You said to me once, my father might, had he chosen, been my substitute."

      "I did, certainly, and do so still."

      "And you don't see the reflection on mamma? Always supposing that parents with four sons to place out in the world, have the right to throw away their lives."

      Here a smile on Edward's face disconcerted her, and she added hurriedly:

      "Unless the law requires it of them. But it was open, you will admit, to mamma to pursue the same course, and to sacrifice herself for me, if she chose to do so."

      "Excuse me," said Edward eagerly and somewhat too triumphantly, "it was not. It is expressly provided by the Act that no one should pass through the ordeal of 'selection' twice. Your mother has been through it once. In the agony of her heart, she proposed substituting herself for you in the approaching immolation, but she was told that she is what is called exempt and legally dead. Have you never observed that Mrs. Hope never signs anything, not even a receipt for the smallest sums?"

      Marcia made no reply to this. She had observed the circumstance, but had formed her own theory to account for it, namely that her mother was weak and incapable of transacting business. After a pause, she resumed:

      "Edward, be pleased to tell me one thing. Did you not, when I accepted Barbara's invitation, assure me that your highest aspiration was to die with me? Were not those your very words?"

      "Certainly, but I made this mental reservation, that we might first live many happy years together."

      "That shall never be. Our engagement is at an end. Here!" and she held out her engagement ring to him. It was an antique ring, of Dutch workmanship, and of great value.

      Edward took it, kissed it, warm as it was from contact with the lovely little hand, and held it out to her with a smile.

      "Never," said she, resolutely, "will I marry a man not only guilty himself of incivism, but who would make me so."

      "Don't be childish, dear girl. Incivism is nonsense, sheer nonsense in our case. I never drew a vanishing ticket at all. The one you saw was drawn by a friend of mine, who was only too glad to pass it on to me."

      "But mine, at least, was genuine."

      "When you became my promised wife, you parted with the right of disposing of yourself. Come, Marcia, take back the ring."

      She took it.

      "These are mere quibbles," said she, throwing it on the deck.

      Edward stooped, picked it up, bowed, and put it in his waistcoat pocket.

      Marcia waited awhile, but her lover resumed his observation of the horizon. Perhaps she was in hopes he would come to her feet, and implore a reconciliation. But he made no sign, and she went to seek Lady Barbara.

      Edward was still looking out, and observing some birds making for the Kriemhild, when he felt a slight touch on his arm. He turned hopefully round, the thought flashed across him — it might be Marcia. But no there stood Lady Barbara, looking heated and anxious.

      "Edward! So you and Marcia have been quarrelling?"

      He told her briefly what had occurred.

      "I don't like her giving back the ring. She is not the sort of girl for bravado. Edward, you have blundered most wofully. You should have persuaded her to marry you before she found us out."

      "Dear Lady Barbara, excuse me. There is a slight awkwardness in proposing immediate marriage to a woman, who has just signified her preference of drowning to that condition."

      "Oh, well, if you couldn't manage her, I don't know who could. You have missed your opportunity, that is clear, and we shall have a most uncomfortable time of it."

      Lady Barbara might well be excused for being cross and unreasonable. Marcia had confronted her, and in pretty set terms, had charged her with treachery to herself, and a deliberate breach of the law of selection.

      Upon my word," Lady Barbara had retorted half angrily, half laughingly, "you are a model of gratitude. Here we have all been looking forward to a wedding on board. For your sake and Edward's we invited Charley Dobbs to come with us, though he is the very heaviest creature one could have on board. To look at him is enough to make one die of ennui. And allow me to say," continued the little lady, waxing angry as Marcia looked scornful, "you ought to think yourself a fortunate woman to have no worse prospect than a marriage with my cousin Edward."

      "And the law! How do you defend your breach of that?"

      "Oh, the law! That may take care of itself," said Lady Barbara, yawning or affecting to yawn. "I neither made it, nor was consulted about it."

      "You could say just the same of the laws against murder and theft. Do you therefore consider yourself entitled to rob and kill people?"

      "Oh, dear, dear, for pity's sake don't chop logic with me," putting her hands to her ears, "keep it for your husband."

      From this day forward, Marcia and Edward conducted themselves towards each other like two strangers brought together for the first time. Towards the rest of the company, with the exception of the children, Miss Hope maintained a stately reserve. There was something excessively chilling and depressing in the presence of this handsome silent young woman, who appeared not to take the slightest interest in the course of outward events, and who by her coldness and indifference seemed to protest against any attempt at cheerfulness on the part of others.

      "I wish we had not interfered and brought Marcia with us, Robert," said Lady Barbara to her husband, after a week's experience of that young lady's altered demeanour. "When she is in the sulks, that girl is absolutely intolerable."

      "Awfully good-looking though," remarked Mr. Clifden.

      "Pshaw! that's all you men ever think of. If a woman's only pretty, she can do just what she likes with you."

      "Very true," said her husband, looking meaningly into the charming face, to which sea-breezes and regular hours were bringing back its girlish bloom.

      "You ridiculous old thing," was the reply given not very angrily, and with a blush and a smile.

---

CHAPTER II.
INVALIDS AND NURSES.

A WEEK followed, during which a succession of storms prevailed, and Marcia rose somewhat in her hostess's opinion.

      Of the women they were the only two capable of exertion. The children suffered again frightfully with sea-sickness, and Miss Bates and the nurses with terror.

      Marcia took charge of all the sufferers, attended on them, nursed the children, who would take nothing but from her hand, and replaced Lady Barbara's maid, who was useless.

      "Really, Marcia, you are rather inconsistent," said Lady Barbara to her one day, kindly.

      "According to your theory you should leave us all to our fate."

      "I never said life while it lasted was not to be made as happy and pleasant as possible," was the answer.

      "Ungracious, repellent girl," thought Lady Barbara; "you shall go your own way for me."

      The bad weather continued, and the discomfort was indescribable.

      According to Edward, the Kriemhild was in no danger, though she rolled and pitched incessantly, a good sign, he said.

      One day a shock and concussion was felt by all on board. All the women excepting Marcia screamed, and clung together, thinking their last hour was come.

      Miss Hope climbed, with difficulty, on deck, where the men were holding on as well as they might to ropes and bulwarks.

      "What has happened?" said she to the first person she saw.

      It was Edward. He turned delighted; it was the first occasion of her speaking naturally to him since their quarrel.

      "We have carried away our propeller, that is all; there is no real harm done. We must sail now."

      "Oh!" said Marcia in high disdain, and returned to the cabin to report matters.

      Lady Barbara was in great anxiety about Tottie, her only girl. She was now suffering from a kind of low fever, and took no nourishment but a little milk and water. At last she refused even this.

      "If this lasts she must die," said her mother, looking at the little wasted thing, lying white and helpless in Marcia's arms.

      Mr. Clifden, at a message from Lady Barbara, came into the state-room. He bent in silence over the dying child, his favourite, unable to find a word of comfort for his weeping wife.

      He went in search of Mr. Dobbs, whom he found in a collapsed condition. Edward Vansittart, he recollected, had taken a medical degree, and with him Mr. Clifden returned.

      Edward brought with him, so Lady Barbara thought, an atmosphere of cheerfulness. At sight of his bronzed face, and sound of his hearty voice, a ray of unreasoning hope seemed to enter her heart.

      He knelt down to get a better look at the child, took the little feverish hand, and listened to the feeble beating of the heart.

      "She is sinking from want of nourishment, and that she will not take here. At the first gleam of fine weather we must take her on deck."

      "Then there is hope?" said the mother breathlessly.

      "Of course there is. Only at her age she cannot be induced to take food for the sake of preserving life as we should. When she breathes the fresh air, natural appetite will return. Directly the wind goes down a bit I will come for her. There is already a sign of change."

      "God bless you, Edward!" said Lady Barbara, seizing his hand and kissing it, leaving her warm tears on it.

      The young man scarcely seemed to notice her impulsive action, which at any other time would have been somewhat embarrassing to a man of his concentrated undemonstrative nature.

      He was looking fixedly and earnestly into Marcia's face. She was, in his eyes, more beautiful than ever, with her brilliant colouring somewhat subdued, and on her face a touching look of anxiety and sympathy that lent to her almost too statuesque beauty a charm it sometimes seemed to lack — the charm of expression. But not by so much as a flicker of the eye-lid did she seem to notice his presence. He observed that her whole frame was quivering, but he thought with the tremor of fatigue, not of emotion.

      "If I could but get this strange couple to speak," said the ever good-natured Lady Barbara to herself. "What an opportunity!" Then, aloud:

      "Poor dear Marcia, Edward, she must be quite exhausted; she has held Tottie like that for hours. If she moves in the slightest, the poor little thing moans, the only sign of life she gives. Isn't it so, Marcia?"

      In vain! This singular pair, so near, so dear, and yet so far apart, separated by pride and obstinacy, could not be induced to exchange a word, and the golden opportunity was lost.

      As he left the state-room, Edward said a few words in a low voice to Lady Barbara, who went to a table where refreshments were laid.

      "Marcia, dear," she exclaimed, "I have neglected you shamefully. You must be faint, Edward says." She poured some wine into a glass, steeped a biscuit in it and fed Marcia, crying the while as if her heart would break.

      The wind, which had been gradually going down, had now almost ceased. The sun had risen, the air was bright and fresh. When Edward came to the state-room door, he knocked, and at a word of permission given in Marcia's voice, looked in. Lady Barbara was lying back asleep, the sleep of exhaustion. Marcia sat just as he had left her, and Tottie lay unchanged in her arms.

      "Give me the child," he whispered.

      She wrapped it carefully in a fur cloak, and with some difficulty, for the sea was still heaving with the after-roll, he made his way up the companion-ladder. He carried Tottie to the poop to give her the full benefit of the morning breeze. Its effect on the child after the stifling air of the cabin was quickly visible. She opened her large sunken eyes, and smiled at her father, who, haggard and with a beard of ten days' growth, was now standing over her, accompanied by a very dejected-looking mortal, Mr. Clifden's French cook, who of all the scratch crew looked and felt most out of place on board the Kriemhild.

      "Try her with the broth now," said Edward. Mr. Clifden took a cup and spoon from François, and poured a few drops into the child's mouth. Had anyone unconcerned been looking on it would have been a comic sight to see the great, gaunt, unshorn man so awkwardly feeding the tiny mite of humanity. Tottie sucked down the broth, smiled and motioned with her little hand for more.

      "All right, little woman," said Edward, "you'll do now; tell the dadda so."

      "Me do now," said Tottie, with perfect gravity.

---

CHAPTER III.
LAND HO! AN AFTER DINNER SPEECH. MARCIA GIVES TROUBLE. AN EXTRACT FROM "THE TIMES."

STORMS are quickly forgotten at sea. The Kriemhild soon resumed her cheerful aspect. The glass promised a continuance of fine weather. The day was perfect, the waves had subsided, and the cry "Land in sight!" made every heart bound. To the unpractised eye it was merely a purple streak on the horizon, but the experienced knew it for an island of great extent.

      "What is it called?" asked Lady Barbara.

      Edward told her. It had been, he explained, the seat of a Spanish settlement, which had in the eighteenth century been destroyed by a volcanic eruption, and its vegetation to a great extent blasted by noxious vapours.

      "Are there any savages there?"

      "Savages in the North Atlantic at this time of day! There is nothing there worse than land-crabs, and horrible brutes they are," said Mr. Clifden laughing.

      "I notice," said Lady Barbara, "that the sea is quite a different colour here to what it was. It has changed from a deep sapphire blue to a brilliant green."

      "That shows the presence of coral rocks. There is a sort of coralline pier running into the sea, about two miles long, and the only place where we can land."

      "I wish you would not," said Lady Barbara uneasily, "do wait until we reach —"

      Here she broke off, seeing Marcia at her side who, however, took no notice and with her usual air of indifference to all about her, passed on in silence.

      For the first time for ten days the ladies took their dinner in the saloon. By tacit consent, every one, with the exception of Marcia, was prepared to treat it as a gala occasion. Lady Barbara at her husband's request, who was, he said, tired of seeing her look dowdy, dressed herself with unusual care, in a wonderful gown of white silk tulle. Her arms were bare, and from the shoulders floated long and wide open sleeves trimmed with a border of white peacock's feathers. The trimming was continued on the bodice and long flowing skirt. The dress exactly suited her delicate mignonne beauty, and gave to her the air of a fairy queen. "Pretty Mamma," cried her children in chorus, and Tottie clapped her hands.

      Marcia, as if to rebuke her hostess's frivolity, had donned a sombre dress of severe cut without any ornaments, and only relieved by some yellow lace. She had brushed out her curls, and coiled her hair in a knot at the back of her head. But she could not do away with its rich rippling waves, and the colour of her gown, the peculiar brown called gorge de faisan, harmonized with it.

      "Careless of beauty, she is beauty's self," murmured Lady Barbara to Edward as she entered the saloon.

      He gave one sharp, comprehensive glance, and then looked studiously away.

      The hostess had been much puzzled what to do with her two sulky lovers.

      She having Mr. Dobbs on her right, Edward on her left, and Mr. Clifden with Miss Bates on his left and Marcia on his right hand, would of course bring the two "irreconcilables" together.

      "To have those two glooming side by side without speaking a word is really too much for my poor nerves," said she.

      A bright thought struck her, she would have Bertie in to dinner, under the pretence of giving him a treat, and "sandwich" him in between her two "dead-weights," as she called them.

      "Who knows," thought she, "but the child may do what none of us can? They both spoil him so outrageously. Cossetting and petting him one on each side, may bring the two together," and the kindly soul brightened at the idea.

      The dinner was successful. The bill of fare, though (with the exception of a dish of fried flying fish) composed of tinned soup, fish and meat, was pronounced "equal to anything they had eaten on land."

      All went on well until dessert was placed on the table, and Mr. Clifden's valet, who officiated as butler and his two assistants, withdrew. Mr. Dobbs who, though an excellent young man, was not remarkable for tact, now rose, and begged to propose the health of their interesting little invalid, Miss Henrietta Clifden, who he was happy to learn was progressing as favourably as even her devoted parents, their excellent host and hostess could wish.

      After the health was drunk Mr. Clifden was of course compelled to respond. He was as bad as a speaker, as he was good as a man, and perfectly aware of his defects.

      In great nervous trepidation he replied:

      "He was a man of few words, perhaps of few ideas." ("No! No!" from Mr. Dobbs). "He would not occupy more than a few seconds in saying a very few words in reply to his good friend and old companion.

      "Within the last few days they had passed through not a few troubles which but for the few and tried friends he saw around him, might have become great disasters.

      "His little daughter's days had been few, but he trusted not altogether evil ('Hear! hear!' from Mr. Dobbs). Not a few more would have to pass over her head, before she could fully understand the nature of her many obligations. It would be one of his and his wife's many, many duties to teach them to her. Chief among them would be life-long gratitude and affection to two dear young friends present, to whose care, skill and tenderness (under Providence) she owed her little life.

      "He begged to propose the health of Miss Hope and Mr. Vansittart jointly, and," with a quiver in his voice, "may God bless them both!"

      Lady Barbara choked in her glass. "Oh dear," thought she, "the dear blundering stupid old darling, to put them together like that. There's Marcia looking like a poker in summer-time, and Edward with his head sunk on his chest. I can't stand this. I must get them out of it somehow."

      She rose abruptly, and signalling Marcia and Miss Bates, swept out of the saloon.

      How Edward extricated himself from his dilemma she never knew, for subsequent events banished the remembrance of this little episode from the mind of every one present.

      That night the moon was shining with the searching brilliance peculiar to that latitude. A tall female figure in an ulster and hood might by its light have been seen gliding into the deserted saloon. It was Marcia. She went at once to a corner of the room, where from behind the cushion, she withdrew an empty champagne bottle. She had with her a box of matches and a taper, and writing materials. She sat down, wrote a few words on a slip of paper, inserted it into the bottle, and then, carefully corking it, returned to her cabin, and afterwards went on deck.

      A few hours after, those on board the Kriemhild were startled by a peculiar grating noise followed by a shock. Edward had left a man named Hallett to take the middle watch, and had turned in, fairly tired out after the fatigue and excitement of the last ten days. It was hard work for him scrambling on deck, the collision or whatever was the nature of the accident having caused the yacht to careen over.

      "Haven't we struck, sir?" said one of the bewildered scratch crew to him.

      "I am going to see," said Edward.

      The moon had now gone down, and even to Edward's piercing sight, it was impossible to see through the intense darkness uncommon in that region even at midnight, and which was caused by a gathering of thunderous clouds, the remains of the late storm.

      By his directions port-fires were burnt, which cast a shimmering light on near objects and on the sea adjacent. Each moment the Kriemhild heeled over more and more. Mr. Clifden now appeared on deck, and took the lead.

      "Lower the quarter-boats!" shouted he. "Get the women and children together, Edward, she's settling."

      The boats were lowered in silence and perfect order. Such stores as could be got at were thrown into them, and Edward and the clergyman, who had assisted him to assemble and marshal the frightened women, began to help them in.

      "But where's Marcia?" cried Edward.

      "Is she not here?" said Lady Barbara, who had Tottie in her arms.

      A hurried discussion followed. No one had seen Miss Hope since twelve o'clock, when all had turned into their respective cabins.

      The port fires had burnt out, but the clouds were clearing off and the day began to break.

      Edward, with a dreadful sickening of the heart, but feeling all the necessity for coolness, scrambled along the deck, and steadying himself as best he could by laying hold of the bulwarks, caught sight of Marcia, standing close to the deserted wheel, which swung to and fro. She had thrown off her ulster, and was dressed in the fatal "selection robe."

      "Come Marcia," said Edward as quietly and coolly as he could, "there is no time to lose; let me put you into the boat."

      "I remain here," said Marcia with equal coolness. "I shall sink with the Kriemhild, in obedience to the law of selection, which you persist in defying."

      "I must then save you, in spite of yourself," said the young man, seizing her in his strong arms.

      To his relief and delight the girl appeared to yield without a struggle. But with a sudden and supreme effort she wrenched herself free from his grasp, sprang over the bulwarks, and the sea closed over her.

*       *       *       *       *       *      *

      Extract from the Times, 13th September, 3091.

      "The British Consul at Valparaiso has telegraphed the information that a bottle has been picked up on the coast of San Felipe. It contained a half-sheet of note-paper with these words written in a firm female handwriting.

      "'On board the Kriemhild lat. long. (undecipherable) 3.30 a.m.

      ""Have just struck on rock. All on board must perish. Pro salute patriæ suum caput vovit. — M. H."

---

CHAPTER IV.
CONCLUSION.
TO MISS HELMSLEY, WOLVERTON LODGE, NEAR LEEDS.

"MY DEAR CHRISSIE,
           "You are, no doubt, thinking of us all at the bottom of the sea, with queer 'sea-beasts' poking their cold noses at us, wondering what manner of creatures we might be.

      "Nothing could be farther from the reality. We are safe — on dry land, in high health and spirits, on an island situated — I dare not tell you where, lest the irrepressible Mr. Hope should send a commission out after us.

      "The friendly captain of a certain boat, the Albert, that put in here for repairs, has consented to take this to England for me, and to keep our secret. Time presses; I do not know how ever I am to get in all I have to tell you; I never was a good hand at letter-writing. But after all, the thing is, to let that dear, sweet Mrs. Hope know we have kept our promise to her faithfully, and that Marcia is safe and well. Good gracious! when I think of that incomprehensible girl how splendidly she behaved to poor, dear little Tottie, when she was all but dying, and then how coolly she plotted the destruction of our whole company, I can scarcely sit still and write my account. But it must be done, ill or well.

      "So much you already know. Marcia Hope, Robert and I all three drew our vanishing tickets at the same time. But this you did not know, for, of course, we had to keep it a profound secret, that Edward Vansittart came to us, almost out of his mind, imploring us to save Marcia, ourselves, and himself. Robert, good, easy man! takes everything just as it comes. It had never occurred to him to dispute the justice of the law of selection, under which he had grown up. But Edward so worked on him with his eloquence and earnestness, that he became an eager conspirator in the newly-hatched plot.

      "Edward Vansittart is by his father's side of Dutch extraction, though no one, to look at him, would think it. He inherited, besides his mother's fortune, an island in the Antilles. There his ancestors, some hundreds of years ago, lived magnificently, until there happened a succession of failures in the orange crop. The great distilleries for the making of cura&ccedi;oa were given up, and left to fall into ruins, and the Vansittarts ultimately came to England.

      "But Edward had always cherished the idea of a return to his ancestral home. His grandfather never tired of telling him stories about his beautiful and beloved island, and the quaint old red-brick, stone-faced mansion, in which the Vansittarts had once held almost regal state. He had a fine old Dutch picture representing it before its decay. It was most wonderfully pretty and droll, like a bit of old Amsterdam taken up and set down in the tropics.

      "His plan, then, was to get a forged vanishing ticket for himself, with which to delude Mr. Hope, and induce Marcia to accompany us, with the understanding that we were all like good citizens to drown ourselves within the prescribed limit of six months appointed by the law. The Kriemhild was so built that there was an almost certainty of her breaking up on the occasion of the first gale we should encounter.

      "From the very first I had my doubts of the feasibility of the scheme. Marcia had been so trained by her pompous egotist of a father that she seemed to have lost all natural feeling. Here it was not a mother, as our old poet says, but a father who was "preaching" down a daughter's heart. But Edward and Mrs. Hope so begged and prayed, and she in particular laid so much stress on what she called "the woman" re-asserting itself in Marcia, under favourable circumstances, that I gave way. I was fully justified in my reluctance to take charge of this queer girl, as the sequel will show.

      "I cannot enter into details, and must hurry on to the catastrophe. Things went well enough until we had the Kriemhild hauled over and put into ship-shape. This Miss Hope took very ill, quarrelled with us all round, and broke off her engagement with my cousin. They were always a singularly quiet, undemonstrative couple, and a breach between people of that type is much more dangerous than when it occurs between ordinary lovers, who quarrel and make it up ten times a day.

      "The climax came after a spell of bad weather. Shall I ever forget it? The cook and his helps, Charley Dobbs, Miss Bates, the children, the nurses and Robert all succumbed. Marcia and I had to nurse everybody. Edward was captain, chaplain, and doctor.

      "The gale subsided, and we were all rejoicing in the burst of sunshine that succeeded. The men were for going on shore on this very island, for the sake of the game they hoped to find. Our fresh provisions had just come to an end. But I was horrified at the idea of savages, perhaps cannibals, getting hold of the boat-party. Everybody laughed at me, but they gave way, or pretended to.

      "What followed is still a mystery. My belief is that Marcia wheedled a man named Hallett to let her take his turn at the wheel during the middle watch, and that she purposely tried to run the Kriemhild on the rocks.

      "Such is the hold Marcia has over the men, that I can learn nothing definite about the matter. You know Robert of old, what an easy-going creature it is, but he can be obstinate and assert his authority at times, and like all the men, at the wrong times. He put down his foot, and absolutely forbade my questioning anybody on board on the subject, and not a soul volunteers a remark upon it. Let me approach it ever so gently, they look as blank and innocent as possible. Old Hallett alone, indeed, looks excessively sheepish when I pass him, but I cannot learn that he has received any punishment for his shameful breach of discipline. The inference of course is that whatever he merited, Miss Hope deserved twice over, she evidently having been the inciter. But there it is. Robert says all is well, and cannot be bettered by talking about it.

      "But to return to the accident. We struck. They tell me that if the yacht had had her head a point more east, we must have gone to pieces. They showed me the spot, and I fainted quite away, and think the men themselves must have felt a secret shudder at the sight.

      "No wonder that for hundreds of years this island has had a bad reputation. Excepting at one spot, it is inaccessible to mariners. It is guarded by rocks rising sheer out of the sea, some are two or three thousand feet high, they tell me. Vast fragments have been hurled down, and lie at the base, it is supposed by the action of a now extinct volcano. The rest are of the most fantastic shapes. Some like vast animals writhing and twisting one might imagine them ferocious brutes suddenly petrified in their mortal agonies. Then the noise and look of the surf boiling round the fallen rock are horrible, maddening. It seemed to me like a living thing raging and tearing at the rocks in fury.

      "Add to all this the screams of the sea-birds, whirling and swooping about in enormous numbers, and you have a picture of horror Dante might have added to his 'Inferno.'

      "The interior of the island must have been devastated by the same volcanic eruption, and the vegetation in many places wholly destroyed. But since then the ghastly charred trunks of trees have been clothed by beautiful climbers, and an artificial soil has been made by dead leaves and things. In some sheltered places, valleys and plains where the mephitic gases passed over, there are still most enormous forest trees, with their rich undergrowth remaining.

      "Well, most providentially, we ran on shore in the one safe place, but the Kriemhild got jammed between two reefs running out from the island, one much lower than the other, so that she heeled over but stuck fast.

      "What followed still remains confusion in my mind. All I know is, that at the last moment Edward went in search of Marcia, who was missing, and that at sight of him the perverse girl jumped into the sea. He plunged after her and seized hold of her by that very 'selection robe' her father bought for her, when she drew her vanishing ticket. Edward is an expert swimmer, and he managed to bring his intractable lady-love safe to shore.

      "In the meantime we had landed with comparative ease, for past the reefs the shore was sandy and shoaly. We were in a perfect agony of suspense about this very queer pair of lovers. Something we could see had gone wrong. The tide had turned, and was setting in strong inland. They were washed ashore. Marcia was little the worse, but Edward had been struck on the head by a floating spar, or something, and gave no sign of life. The poor young fellow was suffering from a severe concussion of the brain.

      "We found it quite impossible to unloose his grasp of Marcia's 'selection robe,' and we had to cut it out all round. It would have been a thousand pities to hack such beautiful stuff, but then of course the sea-water had ruined it already.

      "Fortunately for all concerned, our shipwreck had taken place at daybreak, and as the tide was coming in. At high-tide the Kriemhild floated, and was but little the worse for her drenching. Our men went to work with a will, got out the tents we had supplied ourselves with, put them up, and Edward still insensible was carried into one.

      "Another unexpected piece of good luck was the sudden return to good health and activity of Charley Dobbs, the fair young curate we all used to laugh at so unmercifully. During the voyage, he had been a mere dead-weight upon us, being exasperatingly ill the whole time. But directly he touched land, he showed quite a new set of qualities. He had 'walked the hospitals,' and knew all about concussions and fractures (Edward's arm was broken), and he took entire charge of him. I do believe he brought him round as quickly as any regular practitioner could have done.

      "As for Marcia, whether her salt-water douche had restored her to her senses, or whether the devotion she had so ill-deserved touched the torpid thing she calls a heart, I cannot tell, but the girl was entirely changed. She nursed Edward with the utmost care and tenderness, seeming as if she would try to make up for her previous unwomanly apathy.

      "It is not an original remark, that men suffer more in illness than women. It was really dreadful to see Edward's sufferings. This strong, cool, resolute, young fellow, who, Robert says, earned the name of 'Tough' at Cambridge, utterly collapsed in mind and body. At his worst, and he was delirious a great part of the time, he still showed an agonised anxiety about his very ungrateful betrothed. Marcia, Marcia,' he muttered incessantly night and day, until I thought I should go mad myself. Charley tried to persuade me this sort of thing was quite mechanical and unconscious, but that I do not believe, because there was decidedly another expression and tone when Marcia was present or out of sight.

      "The first sign of recovery shown by our invalid was by holding out his left hand, on the little finger of which was the old Dutch ring which Marcia had so insolently flung at him.

      "She took it, all in tears, the first I have ever seen her shed, and put it on, at which Edward showed unmistakable signs of satisfaction, and improved in health directly. At the next marked stage of recovery, when he was able to speak coherently, he asked her to marry him at once. I suppose he thought if he did not make sure of her at once, she would play him some other awkward prank, and this time escape him for ever. We all agreed it was the best thing to do, to quiet his mind and give him a chance of recovery. So we added our persuasions to his, and the fair lady consented.

      "So married they were, and — where do you think?

      "Under an enormous tree, whose dome-shaped crown and hundreds of branches stretching out horizontally, and then striking into the ground, suggested to me at once the idea of a cathedral. The coolness and half-gloom, underneath its enormous mass, strengthened the idea.

      "Tell dear Mrs. Hope the most anxious mother would have been satisfied with Marcia's appearance on her wedding-day. The wedding-dress and the splendid pearls she confided to my care, set her off most wonderfully. Little did she suspect that I had had them carefully stowed away all the time on board the Kriemhild for this very occasion. Nothing was wanting, even to the orange-flower wreath. The men had scoured the island in search of white flowers, and brought back orange flowers, acacias, lotus, jasmin, oleanders and roses (single) in the greatest profusion.

      "Old Hallett (Marcia's accomplice) came to me in great humility, and asked if he might 'rig' the bouquets. I consented, though with much misgiving, for I had snubbed the old wretch rather emphatically. The result was absolute perfection No one, not even a Parisian fleuriste, could have done better, and he is the roughest, ruggedest-looking old fellow imaginable, with hands like the fins of a seal.

      "Tottie was the only bridesmaid, and carried a bouquet nearly as big as herself. Miss Bates shyly refused the office, why I did not find out until afterwards.

      "Charles Dobbs read the service most impressively, and I assure you we all felt an unusual solemnity during the ceremony, conducted, as the clergyman took occasion to remark to us, in a 'church of God's own making.' Robert gave the bride away, and all went well until the last moment, when Edward who had been carried — into church, I was going to say — basely usurped the bride's privilege by fainting away. We were all in consternation. Marcia knelt down by her bridegroom, despair in her face; the yachtsmen fairly blubbered; Robert gave some suspicious sniffs (he says I was crying, but I'm sure I wasn't!) and the children howled outright. But Charles put us all to rights at once. There was nothing unusual or alarming in Edward's swoon, the result, he said, of excitement acting on a weakened frame. Perfect rest and quiet was all he wanted: he was carried back to his tent. Charley and Marcia resumed their duties as doctor and nurse, and to such good effect, that now (it is six weeks ago) he is as strong as ever.

      "'One wedding,' etc., you know. No sooner were Edward and Marcia married than (I think the very next day) Miss Bates informed me that she was engaged to Mr. Dobbs, and hoped for my approval. This, she explained, was the reason she could not act as bridesmaid to Mrs. Vansittart, having but one white gown with her.

      "Of course, I congratulated her, and said the usual things, and she left me blushing and happy, just as Robert came in laughing. Charley had, he said, applied to him in a very formal and ceremonious manner, being, as he put it, in loco parentis to Miss Bates, for his approval and consent to their marriage, which, of course, was cheerfully given.

      "But now started up a curious difficulty, and this set Robert off laughing.

      "Can a clergyman marry himself?

      "Under the very peculiar circumstances we have settled that he can.

      "Some one suggested a precedent in the example of a Welsh clergyman, who united himself, in his own parish church, with a woman much his inferior in position.^* The legality of the marriage was never called into question, though the clergyman was sharply rebuked by his bishop.

* Perhaps Lady Barbara was referring to the case of the Rev. David Pryce of Llanwlch. — Note by EDITOR.

      "Now Charley belongs to the diocese of Salisbury, and is so far off here that the bishop may rebuke him away to his heart's content (supposing he should ever hear of the irregularity) without hurting him. At any rate he is going, with Miss Bates' approval, to chance it.

      "Then Robert reminded him that, by a provision of the law of selection, six months after the drawing of our vanishing tickets, we are virtually dead. So no legal process or action can lie against any of us with the exception of Edward and our three children.

      "I wish I had time to describe our temporary settlement. I say, temporary, for we have agreed only to spend the winter here. In the spring we shall betake ourselves to the dear old Kriemhild, and sail for the Antilles.

      "In the meantime, imagine us living in a Wimbledon Camp on a small scale. It is really a very pretty sight! Our greatest drawback is the land crabs, odious, loathsome things! but the men despatch them by hundreds with heavy knobbed sticks, and their survivors have nearly deserted our part.

      "How about the commissariat? you will ask.

      "Well, we have abundance of game, fish and fruit, so that we have not once had to resort to our store of tinned provisions since we landed. We have had kid once, but I don't like it. The men eat it, however, and Marcia makes very good nourishing broth of it for her husband.

      "The captain of the Albert is getting impatient. I must bring this to an end. There is one thing I must say. I know you drew a blank at the last selection, and are safe for nine years good. In the meantime, dear Chrissie, if you and Lina and Jack will come to us, you will be most welcome.

      "The captain says I must 'hurry up!' I know Marcia and Edward would send messages to Mrs. Hope, or rather would have written themselves, but when the Albert touched here they were off on an excursion to another part of the island in search of a greater variety of game. Some of the crew have gone with them. I did not like the fatigue for Marcia, but she would go. She will never now be separated from Edward, even for an hour.

      "A strange sequel to a strange beginning! May the ending be equally good.

      "The captain is here, and growling with impatience.

      "A thousand times good-bye, dear Chrissie, from yours ever,

"BARBARA CLIFDEN."