CHAPTER VI.


The steamboat wharf of the town of Elton was truly a scene of busy life.
The steamer was making full preparations for the embarkation of
passengers to a distant city; and the wharf was crowded with bales of
goods, casks of water, cabs, trucks, &c. Business men were hurrying to
and fro, sailors were shouting to each other, and friends were hastily
clambering up the plank and springing on deck to remain a few minutes
longer, if possible, with those from, whom they were so soon to be
severed, "it might be for years, and it might be forever."

But the bell has rung once, twice, its warning note, and now, for the
third time, it peals out on the clear air. The last clasp of the hand,
the hurried embrace, the fervent "God bless you," is given, and those
who are to remain have trodden the plank, regained the wharf, and now
turn, before departing to their respective homes, to take a farewell
glance at the steamer, as she moves slowly and gracefully away, bearing,
it may be, from many their heart's most cherished idols. The passengers
are assembled on deck, watching the receding shores, and many
handkerchiefs are waving a last response to those eager glances, an
adieu which, alas, few there dream shall prove final to so many.

At the farther end of the deck, close by the railing, is seated a lady
in travelling costume. She is alone, for her companion, an elderly
gentleman, has left her to salute a friend whose face he had just
recognized among the crowd of passengers.