leaned over the taffrail, as if he would fly ashore, and stretched out
his hands to his beloved Rosa; and she stretched out her hands to him.
They were so near, he could read the expression of her face. It was wild
and troubled, as one who did not yet realize the terrible situation, but
would not be long first.

"HANDS MAKE SAIL--AWAY, ALOFT--UP ANCHOR"--rang in Christopher's ear, as
if in a dream. All his soul and senses were bent on that desolate young
creature. How young and amazed her lovely face! Yet this bewildered
child was about to become a mother. Even a stranger's heart might have
yearned with pity for her: how much more her miserable husband's!

The capstan was manned, and worked to a merry tune that struck chill to
the bereaved; yards were braced for casting, anchor hove, catted, and
fished, sail was spread with amazing swiftness, the ship's head dipped,
and slowly and gracefully paid off towards the breakwater, and she stood
out to sea under swiftly-swelling canvas and a light north-westerly
breeze.

Staines only felt the motion: his body was in the ship, his soul with
his Rosa. He gazed, he strained his eyes to see her eyes, as the ship
glided from England and her. While he was thus gazing and trembling all
over, up came to him a smart second lieutenant, with a brilliant voice
that struck him like a sword. "Captain's orders to show you berths;
please choose for Lord Tadcaster and yourself."

The man's wild answer made the young officer stare. "Oh, sir! not
now--try and do my duty when I have quite lost her--my poor wife--a
child--a mother--there--sir--on the steps--there!--there!"