his visit by saying, "No doubt, sir, you are surprised to see me down here, and I feel it would have been more becoming had I written first to inform you of my intention; but the circumstances of yesterday came upon all of us so sudden and unexpectedly, that it was not until late last evening I formed the decision to make this hasty and impromptu visit."

"Well, now that you have come, let me hear what it is you have to say."

"I must confess, sir," said Arnold, "that the fact of Mr. Houghton being allowed to retire is not to me so much a matter of surprise as the person who has been appointed to succeed him. If I am rightly informed, he is a man of no experience in your business, and with no record to distinguish him as one entitled to such a position. Several of us in London have been so many years in your employ, that hopes were freely entertained that, whenever the course of events should render a change necessary, an opportunity would be afforded to one of us to supply the vacancy. I, for one, cherished the hope that the experience and knowledge gained during my period of service with you might have induced you to offer me the position conferred upon Mr. Johnson."

"I am rather sorry to hear what you tell me," said Mr. Quinion; "as I may candidly inform you that the firm never had any intention of putting a member of the present staff into the position you refer to; and in asking you to regard this matter as now closed, we shall be glad if you will take any opportunity which may present itself to disabuse the minds of your colleagues, as well as that of your own, that a slight was intended to anyone by this appointment. On the other hand, it was feared that to promote any member of the London staff would probably give rise to more dissatisfaction, and create a greater amount of friction, than the installation of a perfect stranger is likely to do. It is not intended as a reflection upon anyone, but simply a matter of expediency, and which, in the interest of all concerned, we thought it wisest to adopt."

"I much regret to learn that that is your decision, sir, as I did hope it might not yet be too late to induce you to make some other arrangement."

"That is quite out of the question," replied Mr. Quinion; "and I hope you will not only give Mr. Johnson a hearty welcome, but at the same time render him all the assistance which he will, of course, very much need."

"So far as I am concerned you may certainly reckon upon that, although I should like to have seen a different state of things prevailing."

"I regret," added Mr. Quinion, "you should have felt it needful to come down here on such an errand, as it was scarcely likely we should have taken so important a step without first giving it very careful consideration."

"I trust you will forgive me if you think I have acted indiscreetly," rejoined Arnold.

"Oh, say no more about it," was Mr. Quinion's reply. "When do you return to town?"

"By the next train, sir; at three-ten p.m."

"In that case you have no time to lose, so I will not detain you any longer. Good day."

And in less than half an hour Arnold was speeding back to London, with no very comfortable feelings. He had failed to produce the impression expected, or to change the situation of affairs; and his future course did not yet clearly shape itself to his mind.

Of course, the fact of his visit to Broadstone was known in London, but every attempt to extract from him the object of his journey failed. To all and sundry of his inquirers the uniform answer was—"Only a little private business."

CHAPTER III.

THE QUAY AT ANTWERP.

"Blow, wind; swell, billow; and swim bark!
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard."
Julius Cæsar, Act V. sc. i.

A midsummer sun was already shining upon the lazily flowing waters of the Scheldt, as the Cathedral clock rang out the hour of six; and the sweet-toned carillons, for which its tower is almost world renowned, had not yet ceased their chimes as the good ship Kestrel, which lay moored at the quay-side, began to sound her most unmusical whistle, preparatory to moving into midstream, outward bound for the English coast.

The quaint old market-place,—close to the river, and lying beneath the shadow of the Cathedral walls,—surrounded with lofty houses of a style peculiar to Flemish architecture, was at this hour a scene of busy life. From early dawn the peasants and small farmers from the neighbouring villages continued to flow in, bringing such marketable commodities as were likely to find a ready sale. Butter and cheese, with pails of cream and masses of cheap vegetables, rapidly changed hands, and were carried home in baskets, or in small carts to which dogs were harnessed, and which latter seemed in no way to dislike the task they were put to, judging from the apparent cheerful and eager way in which they went at the work.

On the quay-side nearly as much life and activity prevailed as in the market-place. Porters were hurrying to and fro across the gangways; final additions were being hastily made to the cargo; the passengers were crowding in; and, as the Kestrel's warning bell rang, those who had come to see the last of departing friends or relatives were hurried ashore.

It is not a little peculiar that no matter what may be the hour fixed for the departure of a train or vessel, someone is sure to arrive at the last moment, when the time is up for starting; and, on the occasion we are describing, the proverbial late-comer was not wanting, in the person of a man about thirty, who just succeeded in reaching the last of the gangways, which crew and landsmen had already commenced to cast off, and made his way on board.

Freed from her moorings, with steam up, the Kestrel gradually proceeded into midstream, where, with tide and current in her favour, she soon began to run rapidly down the broad brown Scheldt, giving opportunity for but a passing glimpse of the magnificent lines of quays which once engrossed most of the commerce of the earth.

On leaving the city itself, the river scenery for miles is dull and uninteresting to a degree. Most of the land on either shore, lying below high-water mark, presents few features to attract the attention of the observer. Beyond an occasional house-top or a church-steeple, there is nothing to relieve the miles of flat lowlands which stretch away to the horizon line, if we except the never-ending windmills perched on the highest point of the banks to catch the breeze. When the broad lagoon-like piece of water was reached, which marks the entry to the river, and is carefully buoyed to indicate the course of vessels entering or leaving port, the welcome sound was heard of the steward's bell, announcing that breakfast was ready; and in a few minutes no one was to be seen upon deck save such of the crew as were required for the working and safety of the vessel.

A more than usual orderly company was seated at the tables, which were soon being well served for the apparently eagerly-anticipated morning meal;