boat on the morning of her departure, and got my baggage safely stowed away in my cabin before the rush set in. My cabin mate was to join me in Adelaide, so for the first few days of the voyage I should be alone.
About three o'clock we hove our anchor and steamed slowly down the Bay. It was a perfect afternoon, and the Harbour, with its myriad craft of all nationalities and sizes, the blue water backed by stately hills, presented a scene the beauty of which would have appealed to the mind of the most prosaic. I had been below when the Wetherells arrived on board, so the young lady had not yet become aware of my presence. Whether she would betray any astonishment when she did find out was beyond my power to tell; at any rate I know that I was by a long way the happiest man aboard the boat that day. However, I was not to be kept long in suspense. Before we had reached the Heads it was all settled, and satisfactorily so. I was standing on the promenade deck, just abaft the main saloon entrance, watching the moving panorama stretched before me, when I heard a voice I recognised only too well saying behind me:
"And so good-bye to you, dear old Sydney. Great things will have happened when I set eyes on you again."
Little did she know how prophetic her words were. As she spoke I confronted her. For a moment she turned, overwhelmed with surprise, then, stretching out her hand, said:
"Really, Mr. Hatteras, this is most wonderful. You are the last person I expected to meet on board the 'Orizaba.'"
"And perhaps," I replied, "I might with justice say
