“Hold on, sir!” he said, not unsympathetically.  “Hold on!  Took queer like!  Lor’ bless you, I know how the feelin’ is!  It catches at you right in the middle of the waistcoat.  It’s the thought of the land going back from you—­we’re moving, we’re well away.  Here, take a sip of this!  You’ll get over it in a brace o’ shakes.”

He thrust a flask into Stafford’s hand, but Stafford put it away from him.

“Let me go ashore!  I’ll join you later,” he said, breathlessly.

Mr. Joffler caught his arm as he was about to jump for the quay.

“Steady, steady, sir!” he admonished, soothingly.  “We can’t stop—­and you’d break your neck trying to jump it!  And all for a fancy, too, I’d stake my life!  Hearten up, man, hearten up!  You’re not the first to feel sick and sorry at leavin’ home and friends.”

Stafford bit his lip and tried to pull himself together; but his eyes were still fixed on the pale face, the girlish, black-clad figure, and his voice was shaky, as he said: 

“You’re right, Mr. Joffler.  It is too late now.  I—­I thought I saw someone on the quay there.  But it must have been fancy; it is impossible, quite impossible!”

“That’s it,” said Mr. Joffler, with a sympathetic wink.  “Lor’ love you, I’ve had them kind o’ fancies myself, especially after a hot night on shore.  If you’d only take a pull at this, you’d be all right directly.  It don’t do to come aboard too sober, ‘specially when you’re leavin’ old England for the first time.  Do you see ’em now?”

Ida had moved away, and Stafford drew a long breath and forced a smile.

“No,” he said, huskily, and almost to himself.  “Yes; it must have been fancy.  She could not have been there.  It is impossible!”

Mr. Joffler whistled and winked to himself comprehendingly.

“She!’” he murmured.  “Ah, that’s it, is it?  Ah, well I’ve been there myself!  Don’t you let the fancy upset you, sir!  It ’ull pass afore we gets into the open.  Nothing like the sea for teachin’ you to forget gals you’ve left behind you!  Come down below and try and peck a bit.  There’s cold beef—­and pickles.  That’ll send them kind o’ fancies to the right about.”

Ida turned and walked quickly away.  Her head swam, she looked like one in a dream.  It was, of course, impossible that the man she had seen could be Stafford:  Stafford on board a cattle-ship!  But the hallucination had made her feel faint and ill.  She remembered that she had eaten nothing since yesterday at noon, and she ascribed this freak of her imagination to the weakness caused by want of food.

She left the quay slowly—­as if her heart and her strength and all her life’s hope had gone with the dingy vessel—­and emerging on the narrow, crowded street, looked for some shop at which she could buy a roll of bread.  Presently she saw a baker’s at the opposite side of the road to that on which she was walking, and she was crossing, when a huge empty van came lumbering round the corner.  She drew back to let it pass; and, as she did so, a lighter cart came swiftly upon her.  She was so dazed, so bewildered by the vision she had seen, and the noise of the street, that she stood, hesitating, uncertain whether to go on or retreat to the pavement she had left.