holding out my hand, red and cold with the keen air. He took it into his
large, rough palm, looking down upon me with an air of friendly
protection.

"What is your name, mam'zelle?" he inquired.

"Oh! my name is Olivia," I said; then I stopped abruptly, for there
flashed across me the necessity for concealing it. Tardif did not seem
to notice my embarrassment.

"There are some Olliviers in St. Peter-Port," he said. "Is mam'zelle of
the same family? But no, that is not probable."

"I have no relations," I answered, "not even in England. I have very few
friends, and they are all far away in Australia. I was born there, and
lived there till I was seventeen."'

The tears sprang to my eyes again, and my new friend saw them, but said
nothing. He moved off at once to the far end of the dock, to help one of
the crew in some heavy piece of work. He did not come hack until the
rain began to return--a fine, drizzling rain, which came in scuds across
the sea.

"Mam'zelle," he said, "you ought to go below; and I will tell you when
we are in sight of Guernsey."

I went below, inexpressibly more satisfied and comforted. What it was in
this man that won my complete, unquestioning confidence, I did not know;
but his very presence, and the sight of his good, trustworthy face, gave
me a sense of security such as I have never felt before or since. Surely