“My nevy, Charles Holland, can’t be allowed to cut away without nobody’s leave or licence.  No, no; I’ll not stand that anyhow.  ’Never desert a messmate in the time of need,’ is the first maxim of a seaman, and I ain’t the one as ’ll do so.”

Thus self-communing, the old admiral marched along until he came to Sir Francis Varney’s house, at the gate of which he gave the bell what he called a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether, that set it ringing with a fury, the like of which had never certainly been heard by the household.

A minute or two scarcely elapsed before the domestics hurried to answer so urgent a summons; and when the gate was opened, the servant who answered it inquired his business.

“What’s that to you, snob?  Is your master, Sir Francis Varney, in? because, if he be, let him know old Admiral Bell wants to speak to him.  D’ye hear?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the servant, who had paused a few moments to examine the individual who gave this odd kind of address.

In another minute word was brought to him that Sir Francis Varney would be very happy to see Admiral Bell.

“Ay, ay,” he muttered; “just as the devil likes to meet with holy water, or as I like any water save salt water.”

He was speedily introduced to Sir Francis Varney, who was seated in the same posture as he had been left by Henry Bannerworth not many minutes before.

“Admiral Bell,” said Sir Francis, rising, and bowing to that individual in the most polite, calm, and dignified manner imaginable, “permit me to express the honour I feel at this unexpected visit.”

“None of your gammon.”

“Will you be seated.  Allow me to offer you such refreshments as this poor house affords.”

“D—­n all this!  You know, Sir Francis, I don’t want none o’ this palaver.  It’s for all the world like a Frenchman, when you are going to give him a broadside; he makes grimaces, throws dust in your eyes, and tries to stab you in the back.  Oh, no! none of that for me.”

“I should say not, Admiral Bell.  I should not like it myself, and I dare say you are a man of too much experience not to perceive when you are or are not imposed upon.”

“Well, what is that to you?  D—­n me, I didn’t come here to talk to you about myself.”

“Then may I presume upon your courtesy so far as to beg that you will enlighten me upon the object of your visit!”

“Yes; in pretty quick time.  Just tell me where you have stowed away my nephew, Charles Holland?”

“Really, I—­”

“Hold your slack, will you, and hear me out; if he’s living, let him out, and I’ll say no more about it; that’s liberal, you know; it ain’t terms everybody would offer you.”

“I must, in truth, admit they are not; and, moreover, they quite surprise even me, and I have learned not to be surprised at almost anything.”

“Well, will you give him up alive? but, hark ye, you mustn’t have made very queer fish of him, do ye see?”