“There she is, my hearty; lay her aside, and hang me if she don’t strike.  I say, George, faint heart never won fair lady:  remember that, my boy; no, nor a French ship.”

George would have been at some loss to have reconciled this speech to his father’s caution, if time had been allowed him to think at all; but the door being open he entered, and found Isabel endeavoring to hide her tears.

The admiral, dissatisfied from the beginning with the tardy method of despatching things, thought he might be of use in breaking the ice for George, by trumpeting his praises on divers occasions to his daughter.  Under all circumstances, he thought she might be learning to love the man, as he was to be her husband; and speeches like the following had been frequent of late from the parent to the child: 

“There’s that youngster, George Denbigh:  now, Bell, is he not a fine looking lad?  Then I know he is brave.  His father before him, was good stuff and a true Englishman.  What a proper husband he would make for a young woman, he loves his king and country so; none of your new-fangled notions about religion and government, but a sober, religious churchman; that is, as much so, girl, as you can expect in the guards.  No Methodist, to be sure;—­it’s a great pity he wasn’t sent to sea, don’t you think so?  But cheer up, girl, one of these days he may be taking a liking to you yet.”

Isabel, whose fears taught her the meaning of these eloquent praises of Captain Denbigh, listened to these harangues in silence, and often meditated on their import by herself in tears.

George approached the sofa on which the lady was seated before she had time to conceal the traces of her sorrow, and in a voice softened by emotion, he took her hand gently as he said,—­

“What can have occasioned this distress to Miss Howell.  If anything in my power to remove, or which a life devoted to her service can mitigate, she has only to command me to find a cheerful obedience.”

“The trifling causes of sorrow in a young woman,” replied Isabel, endeavoring to smile, “will hardly require such serious services to remove them.”

But the lady was extremely interesting at the moment.  George was goaded by his father’s caution, and urged on by his own feelings, with great sincerity, and certainly much eloquence, he therefore proffered his love and hand to the acceptance of his mistress.

Isabel heard him in painful silence.  She respected him, and dreaded his power over her father; but, unwilling to abandon hopes to which she yet clung as to her spring of existence, with a violent effort she determined to throw herself on the generosity of her lover.

During her father’s late absence Isabel had, as usual, since the death of her mother, been left with his sister, and had formed an attachment for a young clergyman, a younger son of a baronet, and the present Dr. Ives.  The inclination had been mutual; and as Lady Hawker knew her brother to be perfectly indifferent to money, she could see no possible objection to its indulgence.