and whom we trust at first glance. And, finally, I think about my
constant laughing and admit to myself that laughing is a sensible thing
only in the rarest circumstances."

Frederick continued a conversation with himself in a similar strain for
a while, and cast bitter, ironical reflections upon the passion that had
brought him on this trip. He had actually been robbed of his will; and in
this condition, in that narrow cabin, surrounded by the ocean, it seemed
to him as if his life, and his foolish impotence, were being held up to
the rudest ridicule.

When Frederick went up again, there were still a number of persons on
deck. The stewards had fastened the steamer chairs to the walls, some of
them having slipped and left the occupants, ladies and gentlemen, with
the blue marks of their fall. Refreshments were being served. It was
interesting to see how the stewards, carrying six or eight full cups,
balanced themselves over the heaving deck.

Frederick looked about in vain for Hahlström and his daughter.

In walking the full length of the deck several times, examining all
the passengers with the utmost care and circumspection, he noticed the
pretty young Englishwoman, whom he had seen for the first time in the
reading-room of the hotel in Southampton. She was wrapped in rugs and
furs and snugly settled in a spot shielded from the wind and warmed by
the two huge smoke-stacks. She was receiving the attention of a very
lively young man sitting beside her. Each time Frederick passed, the
young man scrutinised him sharply. Suddenly he jumped up, held out his
hand, and introduced himself as Hans Füllenberg of Berlin. Though
Frederick could not recall ever having met him before, the good-looking,