The clouds are broken, the sun bursts through and once more irradiate Port Chimo—Hopes and fears for Maximus.

The wings of time moved slowly and heavily along at Fort Chimo. Hope long deferred¹, expectation frequently reviving and as often disappointed, crushed the spirits of the little party. The song, and jest, and laugh seldom sounded from the houses of the men, who went through their daily avocations³ almost in silence. Not only had the loss of Edith—the bright spirit of the place, the tender rosebud⁴ in that savage⁵ wilderness—cast an overwhelming gloom upon the fort, but the failure of the trade, to a great extent, had added to the general depression, and now fresh anxiety was beginning to be felt at the non-appearance of Frank Morton.

“Jessie,” said Stanley one day, as he rose from the desk at which he had been writing, and put on his cap with the intention of taking a stroll along the beach, “will you come with me today? I know not how it is, but every time I go out now I expect to hear the ship’s gun as it comes through the narrows.”

Mrs Stanley rose, and throwing on a shawl and hood⁶, accompanied her husband in silence.

“Perhaps,” she said at length, “you expect to hear the gun because the vessel⁷ ought to be here by this time.”

As she spoke⁸, La Roche came up and touched his cap. “Please, madame, vat⁹ you vill have pour dinner?”

“Whatever you please, La Roche. Repeat yesterday’s,” answered Mrs Stanley, with the air of one who did not wish to be troubled further on the subject. But La Roche was not to be so easily put down.

“Ah, madame! pardonnez moi. Dat is impossible. Ve have fresh fish yesterday, dere be no fresh fish to-day. More de pity. C’est dommage—dat Gaspard him gone away—”

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