“Why, Isabelle, my dear, you must be dreaming!” and her mother looked annoyed.  “Don’t let your father hear you say such a thing, I beg of you!  When he visited Barbadoes he was delighted, and he thought Evadne’s mother one of the most charming women he had ever met.  If she had lived of course Evadne would be all right, but she has been left entirely to her father’s guidance, and he had such peculiar ideas.”

“When, did she die, mamma?” asked Marion.

“I am sure I cannot remember.  Six or seven years ago it must have been.  But we rarely heard from them.  Your Uncle Lenox was always a wretched correspondent, and since his wife’s death he has hardly written at all.”

“The house of Hildreth cannot claim to be well posted in the matter of blood relations,” said Louis carelessly, as he helped himself to olives.

* * * * *

Upon the deck of one of the Ocean Greyhounds a promiscuous crowd was gathered.  Returning tourists in all the glory of field glasses and tweed suits; British officers going home on furlough from the different outposts where they were stationed; merchants from the rich markets of the far East; picturesque foreigners in national costume; and a bishop who paced the deck with a dignity becoming his ecclesiastical rank.  There was a continuous hum of conversation, mingled with intermittent ripples of laughter from the different groups which were scattered about the deck.  Among the exceptions to the general sociability were the bishop, still pacing up and down with his hands clasped behind him, and a young girl who sat looking far out over the waves, utterly heedless of the noise and confusion around her.

She was absolutely alone.  The gentleman under whose care she was traveling made a point of escorting her to meals, after which he invariably secured her a comfortable deck chair, supplied her liberally with rugs and books, and then retired to the smoking-room, with the serene consciousness of duty well performed; and Evadne Hildreth was thankful to be left in peace.  She was no longer the buoyant, merry girl.  Her vitality seemed crushed.  Hour after hour she sat motionless, her hands folded listlessly in her lap, looking out over the dancing waves.  She had caught the last glimpse of her beloved island in a grey stupor.  Everything was gone,—­father and home and friends,—­nothing that happened could matter now,—­but, oh, the dreary, dreary years!  Did the sun shine in far-away New England, and could the water be as blue as her dear Atlantic, with the gay ripple on its bosom and the music of its waves?  She looked at the tender sky, as on the far horizon it bent low to kiss the face of the mysterious mighty ocean which stretched “a sea without a shore.”  That was like her life now.  All the beauty ended, yet stretching on and on and on.  And she must keep pace with it, against her will.  And there was no one to care.  She was all alone!  No, there was Jesus Christ!