the arms. And, I say, old fellow, don't be hob-nobbing all your holiday with Tom Burns and Ben Tillett, or stumping it beside the fountain in Trafalgar Square."
The bell rang for the decks to be cleared. Father and son stood hand-in-hand, while a dozen final directions were given.
"Do not break your heart, my boy, over that girl," said the elder. "If it is to be, it will be, and with my blessing. But duty first. I look to you and Larry, you know."
"We'll not fail you, sir," was the young man's reply, as putting his arm in Maud's he hasted off the vessel. Already a severe conflict was raging in Travers' breast between love and duty. He dared not, he felt, give assurance that action might belie.
"Good-bye, Mr. Elms," said Maud, shaking the Sergeant's hand. "Take care of father. I know he's safe with you. I will look after Gwyneth. Come along, child," and not thinking of the awkwardness of the situation for her brother, on whose arm she leant, the girl slipped her disengaged hand into Gwyneth's and drew her weeping towards the ship's side.
"I'll do my best, miss," replied the Sergeant.
"Yes! Your best, or never show face here again," hissed Malduke into his ear, as he leant forward from the gangway.
The cheers, the sobs had died away. The waving of a thousand hats and handkerchiefs was merging into one bright flutter on the receding shore. The doctor sat on the taffrail beside the mountain of flowers, symbols of numberless silent prayers.
The streak of golden wattle, threading through the vale, became engulfed in the ocean of green. Far up the valley the factories seemed, in the dazzling mirage,
