Maggie sat on deck, wrapped in her duffel-cloak; the old familiar cloak, which had been her wrap in many a happy walk in the haunts near her moorland home.

The weather was not cold for the time of year, but still it was chilly to any one that was stationary.

But she wanted to look her last on the shoals of English people, who crowded backward and forward, like ants, on the pier.

Happy people! who might stay among their loved ones.

The mocking demons gathered round her, as they gather round all who sacrifice self, tempting.