“How very many changes have taken place since we have come alongside, Mrs. Hamilton,” the old veteran said, gazing on the blooming matron before him with almost paternal pleasure.  “Poor Delmont! could his kind heart have borne up against the blow of poor Charles’s fate, he surely would have been happy, if all the tales I hear of his daughter Emmeline be true.”

“Come and judge for yourself, Sir George; my home must ever be open to my father’s dearest friend,” replied Mrs. Hamilton, endeavouring by speaking playfully to conceal the painful reminiscences called forth by his words.  “I will not vouch for the truth of anything you may have heard about us in London.  You must contrive to moor your ship into the harbour of Oakwood, and thus gratify us all.”

“Ay, ay; take care that I do not cast anchor there so long, that you will find the best thing will be to cut the cables, send me adrift, and thus get rid of me,” replied the old sailor, delighted at her addressing him in nautical phrase.  “Your appearance here has belied half the stories I heard; so now that you have given me permission, I shall set sail to discover the truth of the rest.”

“You heard, I suppose, that Mr. Hamilton never intended his children to visit London?  They were too good, too—­what may I term it?—­too perfect, to mingle with their fellow-creatures; is not that it, Admiral?” demanded Mrs. Hamilton, with a smile.

“Ay, ay; something very like it,—­but glad to see the wind is changed from that corner.  Don’t like solitude, particularly for young folks,—­and how many are here?”

“Of my children?” The veteran nodded.  “But one, my eldest girl.  I do not consider her sister quite old enough to be introduced.”

“And you left her in harbour, and only permitted one frigate to cruise.  If she had any of her uncle Charles’s spirit, she would have shown some little insubordination at that piece of discipline, Mrs. Hamilton,” said the old man, joyously.

“Not if my authority is established somewhat like Sir George’s, on the basis of affection,” replied Mrs. Hamilton, again smiling.

“Ay, you have learnt that secret of government, have you?  Now who would think this was the little quiet girl I had dandled on my knee, and told her tales of storm and war that made her shudder?  And where are your sons?”

“Both at college.”

“What, neither of them a chip of the old block, and neither of them for the sea?  Don’t like their taste.  No spirit of salt-water within them.”

“But neither of them deficient in spirit for a life on shore.  But, however, to set your heart at ease, for the naval honour of our family, Sir George, I have a nephew, who, I think, some few years hence will prove a brave and gallant son of Neptune.  The accounts we have of him are most pleasing.  He has inherited all poor Charles’s spirit and daring, as well as that true courage, for which you have said my brother was so remarkable.”