“So am I to see you, Gamble,” Hanson answered, as he reached his side.
“But where is the bonny bride?”
“Oh, she is with friends in Washington. I am going to her now.”
“And not to the Mediterranean?”
“Yes, afterward. But, Gamble, what is the meaning of those clouds rising in the west? They have a strange, uncanny look.”
“Yes, sir, they have. They indicate ugly weather. I was just thinking we had better run into Snowden Inlet and anchor for the night.”
“Nonsense! The Roma can weather any storm that could ever rise. We must sail for Washington immediately. I have no time to lose.”
“The impatience of a young husband is excusable,” laughed the captain, and he went forward and gave the necessary orders—fatal orders, they proved to be!
The Roma sailed away from the Isle of Storms, and that was the last seen or heard of her, or of her owner, for many days.
I must be brief here.