“I should think the best thing for you to do, my dear Edith, would be to go to my uncle at Hamburg and stay there till the war is over.  Then—­if Heaven spare my life—­there will be nothing to prevent our union.”

As she made no answer Heideck, who wanted to give her time to think, hastened to turn the conversation.

“Look how beautiful it is!” he said, pointing to the water.

A long succession of white, foaming waves kept pace with the vessel on either side.  The keel seemed to be cutting its way through a number of tiny cliffs, over which the sea was breaking.  But closer inspection showed that they were no cliffs, but countless shoals of large fish, swimming alongside the ship, as if in order of battle.  From time to time they leaped high out of the water, their bright, scaly bodies glistening in the sun.

“I should like to be one of those dolphins,” said Edith.  “Look, how free they are! how they enjoy life!”

“You believe in the transmigration of souls?” said Heideck jestingly; “perhaps you have once been such a dolphin yourself.”

“Then certainly I have made no change for the better.  There is no doubt that our higher intellectual development prevents us from properly enjoying our natural existence.  But it teaches us to feel more deeply the sorrows, which are far more numerous than the joys of human life.”

. . . . . . .

The journey through the Indian Ocean took six days, and Heideck frequently had an opportunity of hearing the views of English officers and officials on the political situation.  All blamed the incapacity of the Government, which had brought England into so perilous a situation.

“The good old principles of English policy have been abandoned,” said a Colonel, who had been severely wounded and was returning home invalided.  “In former times England made her conquests when the continental Powers were involved in war, or she carried on war with allies, to enlarge her possessions.  But she has never allowed herself to be so disgracefully surprised before.  Of course we shall beat France and Germany, for it is a question of sea power.  But even when they are beaten, we shall still have the worst of it; the loss of India is as bad for England’s health and efficiency as the amputation of my left leg for me.  I am returning to England a cripple, and my poor country will only be a cripple after she has lost India.”

“Quite true,” said Mr. Kennedy; “I am afraid it will be difficult—­impossible, to recover India.  We were able to rob the French, the Dutch, and the Portuguese of their Indian possessions, since their only connexion with India was by sea; but the Russians will annex the peninsula to their Empire and, even in case of a defeat, will be able to send fresh troops without number overland.  I can already see them attacking Calcutta, Bombay, and Madras, occupying the harbours built with our money, and building a fleet in our docks with the resources of India.”