those below, whose only merit is their superior seclusion. Passing down into the lower cabin, Trecothick looked along the rows of closed doors in vain, till he heard a shrill little bark from behind one of them.
"42," murmured he, glancing at the number, and turning to seek the purser, whom he found in his office, affable, and not too busy to accept a cigar, and answer a question.
"43? Yes, sir. Let me see. He's a little queer. 42 and 43 are taken for the Valdez family. Odd, isn't it? "
"Well— I don't know. Why?"
"Why, Valdez, in Cuba, means nobody, you know. Like John Smith with us. All the foundlings are named Valdez, after the founder of the Foundling Hospital, and so it is a sort of no name, you see."
"I see. But there are two rooms."
"Yes, I don't know how many are in the family, but probably several."
"A man, a woman, and a little dog," murmured Trecothick, walking away, " and her name is, at least, Dolores."
"Hullo, Mark, catch," shouted Bonnycastle's hearty voice from the wharf, as he frantically waved- a small parcel in his hand. "It's Mrs. Waterston's book, and the plank is drawn in. Hand it to her! "
He tossed the parcel, Trecothick caught it mechanically; the wheels revolved; the boat was off; the journey began.
CHAPTER II.
TRECOTHICK RETRIEVES HIS BLUNDER.
"Mrs. Waterston?" inquired Trecothick, approaching the mother and daughter, and raising his hat. He looked very handsome, with the salt wind ruffling his tawny hair.
