Mr. Saltram, having duly deliberated the matter during the long hours of that weary night, had decided that his wisest course was to lie perdu until the last moment, the very moment of landing, and then to come boldly forward and make his claim.  It was useless to waste his strength in any futile endeavour to baffle so hardy a scoundrel as Percival Nowell.  At the last, when Marian was leaving the ship, it would be time for him to assert his right as her husband, and to defy the wretch who had beguiled her away from him.

Having once arrived at this decision, he was able to await the issue of events with some degree of tranquility.  He had no doubt, even now, of his wife’s affection for him, no fear as to the ultimate triumph of her love over all the lies and artifices of that scheming scoundrel, her father.

It was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon when the steward came to tell him that they were on the point of arriving at their destination.  The wharf where they were to land was within sight.  The man had promised to give him due warning of this event, and John Saltram had therefore contrived to keep himself quiet amidst all the feverish impatience and confusion of mind prevailing, amongst the other passengers.  He was rewarded for his prudence; for when he rose to go on deck, he found himself stronger than he had felt yet.  He went up the companion-ladder, took his place close to the spot at which the passengers must all leave the vessel, and waited.

New York was very near.  The day had been cold and showery, but the sun was shining now, and the whole scene looked bright and gay.  Every one seemed in high spirits, as if the new world they were about to touch contained for them a certainty of Elysium.  It was such a delicious relief to arrive at the great lively Yankee city, after the tedium of a ten-day’s voyage, pleasant and easy as the transit had been.

John Saltram looked eagerly among the faces of the crowd, but neither Percival Nowell nor his daughter were to be seen amongst them.  Presently the vessel touched the wharf, and the travellers began to move towards the gangway.  He watched them, one by one, breathlessly.  At the very last, Mr. Nowell stepped quickly forward, with a veiled figure on his arm.

She was closely veiled, her face quite hidden by thick black lace, and she was clinging with something of a frightened air to her companion’s arm.

John Saltram sprang up from his post of observation, and confronted the two before they could leave the vessel.

“Marian,” he said, in slow decided tone, “let go that man’s arm.  You will leave this vessel with me, and with no one else.”

“Stand out of the way, fellow,” cried Percival Nowell; “my daughter can have nothing to say to you.”

“Marian, for God’s sake, obey me!  There is the vilest treachery in this man’s conduct.  Let go his arm.  My love, my darling, come with me!”