Chapter XXVII.

  “The weary sun hath made a golden set,
  And, by the bright track of his fiery car,
  Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.”

  Shakspeare.

I was quite as much surprised at my own manner towards Rupert, as he could be himself.  No doubt he ascribed it to my fallen fortune, for, at the commencement of the interview, he was a good deal confused, and his confidence rose in proportion as he fancied mine was lessened.  The moderation I manifested, however, was altogether owing to Lucy, whose influence on my feelings never ceased.  As for Marble, he thought all was right, and was very decided in his approval of Rupert’s behaviour and appearance.

“’Tisn’t every man that can make a seaman, Miles,” he said, “for it’s a gift that comes nat’rally, like singing, or rope-dancing.  I dare say Rupert will do very well ashore, in the gentleman line, though he’s no great catch afloat, as all will admit who ever sailed with him.  The lad don’t want for stuff; but it’s shore stuff, a’ter all; and that will never pass muster in blue water.  I dare say, now, this Imperor-Gineral, Bonaparte, would make a bloody poor shipmaster, if a body was to try him.”

I made no answer, and we strolled on until dark.  Then we returned to our lodgings, and turned-in.  Next morning we breakfasted with the rest, and I was about to set out in search of a lawyer, to take his opinion on the subject of my insurance, though I had little or no hope of recovering anything, when I was told two gentlemen wished to see me.  At first sight, I fancied that more editors were in quest of news; but we were no sooner alone together, than one of these persons let me into the secret of his errand, in a way that was well enough as respects the suaviter in modo, while it could not be said to be in the least deficient in the fortiter in re.

“I am sorry to say, Capt.  Wallingford,” this person commenced “that I have a writ to arrest you, for a sum that will require very respectable bail—­no less than sixty thousand dollars.”

“Well done, my upright cousin,” I muttered; “this is losing no time, certainly.  I owe half that money, I admit, sir, if my farm only sold for five thousand dollars, as I hear, and I suppose I am arrested for the penalty of my bond.  But, at whose suit am I thus pursued?”

Here, the second person announced himself as the attorney of the plaintiff, excusing his presence on the pretence that he hoped to be of service in amicably arranging the affair.

“My client is Mr. Thomas Daggett, of Clawbonny, Ulster county, who holds your bonds as the administrator of the estate of the late John Wallingford, deceased, a gentleman to whom I believe you were related.”

“The late John Wallingford!  Is my cousin then dead?”

“He departed this life eight months since, dying quite unexpectedly.  Letters of administration have been granted to Mr. Daggett, who is a son of his mother’s sister, and a principal heir, the party dying intestate.  It is a great pity that the law excludes you from the succession, being as you are of the name.”