CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD.
"Sacred love is basely bought and sold;
Wives are grown traffic, marriage is a trade."
—RANDOLPH.
They came safely into port. A little crowd of eager, expectant friends stood waiting on the wharf; among them a tall, dark-eyed young man, with a bright, intellectual face, whom Molly, seated on the deck in the midst of the family group, recognized with almost a cry of delight.
The instant a plank was thrown out, he sprang on board, and in another moment she was in his arms, sobbing, "Oh, Dick, Dick. I thought I'd never see you again!"
"Why?" he said with a joyous laugh, "we've not been so long or so far apart that you need have been in despair of that."
Then as he turned to exchange greetings with the others, his ear caught the words, "We had an awful night, expecting every moment to see flames bursting out from the hold."
"What, what does it mean?" he asked, grasping his uncle's hand, while his cheek paled, and he glanced hastily from side to side.
"We have had a narrow escape," said Mr. Dinsmore.
The main facts were soon given, the details as they drove to their hotel, and Dick rejoiced with trembling, as he learned how, almost, he had lost these dear ones.