"By the 'Great Eastern'?"
"Undoubtedly," replied the amiable original, smiling; "I have considered the matter, and have come to the conclusion that I must go. Only think, this may be the 'Great Eastern's' last voyage; the one which she will never complete."
The bell for departure had rung, when one of the waiters from Fifth Avenue Hotel came running up to me, and put a telegram into my hands, dated from Niagara Falls:—"Ellen has awakened; her reason has entirely returned to her," said Captain Corsican, "and the doctor has every hope of her recovery."
I communicated this good news to Dean Pitferge.
"Every hope for her indeed! every hope!" said my fellow-traveller, in a sarcastic tone. "I also have every hope for her, but what good does that do? Any one may have great hopes for you, for me, for all of us, but at the same time he may be just as much wrong as right." . . . .
Twelve days later we reached Brest, and the day following Paris. The return passage was made without any misfortune, to the great displeasure of Dean Pitferge, who always expected to see the great ship wrecked.
And now, when I am sitting at my own table, if I had not my daily notes before me, I should think that the "Great Eastern," that floating city in which I lived for a month, the meeting of Ellen and Fabian, the peerless Niagara, all
