THE IRONY OF CHANCE
In the pretty saloon of the Seabreaker Verity Bell lay, weak but smiling; her husband sat by her side.
The tug had turned and was making its slow way upstream, and Gold, by the Captain's side, was silently speculating upon the result of the telegram he had despatched to shore, which, if effective, would place watchers along the French and Belgian coasts awaiting the coming of Helder.
But whatever tragedy awaited the men in the motor-boat, tossed and beaten by the northwest which raged outside, there was something of tragedy in the scene which was being enacted in the little saloon. For here was Comstock Bell, a man vindicated, grateful to the point of worship, and here was his wife, of whom he had no more than twelve hours' knowledge, no nearer to him by conventional
