“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
flooded the harbor. The Pavonia was slowly sweeping by the green shores of Bay Ridge. Here and there other huge liners were moving in the same and the opposite direction. The Auguste-Victoria, outward bound, bands playing and decks black with swarms of waving passengers, majestically swung past and gave the Pavonia a roar of welcome.
Die Wacht am Rhein!
But Lily’s heart did not thrill at the martial strains. It had sunk somewhere far below her waist line. She had a premonition of impending disaster—the culmination of an unfortunate crossing. Neither did the inspiring vision of turreted Manhattan, rising like an island fortress of white marble, from an azure sea, arouse any response in her breast. She had turned to common clay, ready to be shattered at a blow.
As she stood there at the steamer’s side a tug whistling shrilly came darting down channel towards the Pavonia. She looked at it idly, then focused her eyes upon the figure standing in the bow. It was her hus-258
