A foggy night on the ocean. The barometer ranged low. An upward glance disclosed a black mist--no sign of moon or stars. A bad night on land, when trains of cars crash into others laden with humanity--some dying mercifully without knowing the cause; others cruelly, by slow cremation, with willing hands nearby powerless to help.
A bad night off shore, when freight-laden craft, deceived by beacon lights, are beached upon the treacherous sand or dashed against jagged rocks. The life-savers, with rocket, and gun and line, and breeches-buoys, try in vain, and, as a last resort, grasp the oars of the life-boat and bring to safety one or two of a crew of ten. Sad hearts in homes when the news comes; but it is only one of the scenes in the drama of life.
A bad night at sea--with a great ocean liner, its iron heart pulsating, plunging through the black waves into dense mountains of fog.
Despite the darkness and chill of the winter night, Quincy, Alice, and Florence were on the deck of the _Altonia_. Alice shuddered and Quincy drew her wrap more closely about her.
“Not yet. There is nothing enjoyable about this Cimmerian gloom, and yet it has its attractions. Florence, what is it that Tom Hood wrote about London fog?”
“I only remember one line, and I'm not sure I can quote that correctly. I think it reads: 'No sun, no moon,' I should add 'no stars, no proper time of day.'”
During the two days since leaving New York, Florence had been a creature of moods: sad, when she brooded over her trouble due, she felt sure, to another's act; light-hearted when she thought of the prospect of again meeting Reginald and having him prove his innocence.
She had been spared newspaper publicity. Not for ten times the sum he had lost would the Hon. Nathaniel have had his daughter's name in the public prints. He was a lawyer, but it was his business to get other people out of trouble, and not to get his own family into it--which shows that great lawyers are not exempt from that very common human frailty, selfishness.
Sounds of applause were borne to their ears. “Let us go in,” said Florence, “some one has been singing.”
In the main saloon, all was merriment. Each passenger had faith in Capt. Robert Haskins, who had crossed the Atlantic hundreds of times. The _Altonia_ belonged to a lucky line, the luck that follows careful foresight as regards every detail, the luck that brings safety and success from constant vigilance.