His Grace stretched himself and departed.

He had ascertained that the Custom-House tug did not start for two hours after the ship was sighted.

So he sent a telegram to Margaret to announce that her waiting was over, and then, to pass the time, he went, and got something to eat.

In due season he was seated in the single cabin of the little high-pressure boat, as it ploughed its way bravely through the waves and the rain to meet the great ocean monster.

The Custom-House officials, cheery well-fed men, who know the green side of a XX[4], and are seldom troubled with gloomy forebodings, chatted and chaffed merrily together.