mark off its parts so sharply as almost to sever them. Awaking the next
morning in the tiny gilded cabin of the Foam was the signal of such an
event to Bessie Fairfax. She had put away childish things, and left them
behind her at Caen yesterday. To-day before her, across the Channel, was
a new world to be proved, and a cloudy revelation of the joys and
sorrows, the hopes and fears that nourish the imagination of blooming
adolescence. For a minute she did not realize where she was, and lay
still, with wide-open eyes and ears perplexed, listening to the wash of
the sea. There was a splendid sunshine, a sky blue as sapphire, and a
lovely green ripple of waves against the glass.

The voice of Mrs. Betts brought her to herself: "I thought it best to
let you sleep your sleep out, miss. The sea-air does it. The gentlemen
have breakfasted two hours ago."

Bessie was sorry and ashamed. It was with a penitent face she appeared
on deck. But she immediately discovered that this was not school: she
had entire liberty to please and amuse herself. Perhaps if her
imagination had been less engaged she might have found the voyage
tedious. Mrs. Betts told her there was no knowing when they should see
Scarcliffe--it depended on wind and weather and whims. The yacht was to
put in at Ryde to land Mr. Cecil Burleigh; and as the regattas were
going on, they might cruise off the Isle of Wight for a week, maybe, for
the master was never in a hurry. In Bessie's bower there was an
agreeable selection of novels, but she had many successive hours of
silence to dream in when she was tired of heroes and heroines. Mr.
Frederick Fairfax was the most taciturn of men, and Mr. Cecil Burleigh
was constantly busy with pens, ink, and paper. In the long course of the
day he did take shreds of leisure, but they were mostly devoted to
cigars and meditation. Bessie observed that he was older and graver