“Eh! is the lassie daft?” had half murmured the not ill-pleased captain; then, perceiving that the salute had been bestowed without the detection of his partner, a large slow smile expanded itself all over his broad face.

“Wha are ye girning for like an auld Cheshire cat?” inquired the unsuspicious lady.

“Nonsense, my dear; nonsense!” complacently stirring his grog and looking rather foolish.  His Scotch head had disapproved of what his good heart, of no nationality, had decided with regard to Bluebell.  I am not sure now, though, that he did not think the money might be worse risked than in taking this personable lassie another trip across the Atlantic.

CHAPTER XXX.

NO CARDS.

Love will make oar cottage pleasant,
And I love thee more than life. 
—­Tennyson.

A dense November fog ushered in the dawn of the following day.  Bluebell had been awake for hours.  Some men were mending the streets, and, as she listened to the monotonous blows of their pickaxes and hammers, a lugubrious fancy crossed her that just such sounds would a criminal hear when workmen were erecting the gallows that was to close his mortal career.  By ten o’clock a new page of her life would be turned over, if, nervous and unstrung as she was, she were able to carry out the first part of the drama.  Suppose the captain should object to her walking abroad, or offer again to accompany her!  And even if she effected a start, might he not, his suspicions awakened, quickly follow!  The eight o’clock breakfast bell rang, and Bluebell came down with a white, scared face and dark rims to her eyes.  The captain appeared unobservant.  To tell the truth, the stolen kiss, which he probably considered “naughty, but nice,” had made him somewhat conscious.  So he looked demure and rather sly; but the girl had forgotten the circumstance.

The old Dutch clock ticked louder than ever, and, as usual, recorded the quarters with an internal convulsion.  At half-past nine the boys would go to school, and, in the commotion of their departure, Bluebell resolved to pass from the threshold and go forth to her fate.  She got her hat,—­unnoticed and unquestioned was in the street, and groping her way through the fog with swift, unsteady steps.  In two turnings from the door Dutton met her, a relieved, triumphant smile lighting his features as he placed her in a cab.  The man, previously instructed, drove rapidly off to the register office.  Bluebell, now the die was cast, felt almost fainting; but Harry’s strong arm was round her, and in less than a quarter of an hour these two youthful lunatics were as securely and irrevocably married as though the ceremony had been performed by an archbishop in full canonicals.  The gold circlet was on her finger, with a pearl one to guard it—­of no great value, for Harry was aware there would be sundry demands on his ready money.  Bluebell, of course, could have no luggage,