The tide turned at nine, and we got immediately under way, with a light south-west wind.  As for Marble, ignorant as Mr. Hardinge himself of the true condition of my sister, he determined to celebrate his recent discoveries by a supper.  I was about to object to the project, on account of Grace, but Lucy begged me to let him have his way; such convives as my late guardian and my own mate were not likely to be very boisterous; and she fancied that the conversation, or such parts of it as should be heard through the bulk-head, might serve to divert the invalid’s mind from dwelling too intently on the accidental rencontre of the morning.  The scheme was consequently carried out; and, in the course of an hour, the cabins of the Wallingford presented a singular spectacle.  In her berth was Grace, patiently and sweetly lending herself to her friend’s wish to seem to listen to her own account of the reason of the mate’s festa, and to be amused by his sallies; Lucy, all care and attention for her patient, as I could discover through the open door of the after-cabin, while she endeavoured to appear to enter into the business that was going on at the table, actually taking wine with the mate, and drinking to the happiness of his newly-found relatives; Mr. Hardinge, over-flowing with philanthropy, and so much engrossed with his companion’s good fortune as not to think of aught else at the moment; Marble, himself, becoming gradually more under the influence of his new situation, as his feelings had time to gather force and take their natural direction; while I was compelled to wear the semblance of joining in his festivities, at an instant when my whole soul was engrossed with anxiety on behalf of Grace.

“This milk is just the richest and best that ever came on board a vessel!” exclaimed the mate, as he was about to wind up his own share of the repast with a cup of coffee—­“and as for butter, I can say I never tasted the article before.  Little Kitty brought both down to the boat with her own hands, and that makes them so much the sweeter, too, for, if anything can add to the excellence of eatables, it is to have them pass through the hands of one’s own relations.  I dare say, Mr. Hardinge, now, you have verified this, time and again, in your own experience?”

“In feeling, my friend; in feeling, often, though little in practice, in the sense that you mean.  My family has been my congregation, unless, indeed, Miles here, and his beloved sister, can be added to my own children in fact, as they certainly are in affection.  But, I can understand how butter made by the hands of one’s own mother, or by those of such a pretty niece as your Kitty, would taste all the sweeter.”