“Ay, ay, sir, I understand; you wait here, and I’ll go and do it; there would be a squall if you were to make your appearance, sir, all at once.  She looks upon you as safely lodged in Davy’s locker; she minds me, all the world, of a girl I knew at Portsmouth, called Bet Bumplush.  She was one of your delicate little creatures as don’t live long in this here world; no, blow me; when I came home from a eighteen months’ cruise, once I seed her drinking rum out of a quart pot, so I says, ’Hilloa, what cheer?’ And only to think now of the wonderful effect that there had upon her; with that very pot she gives the fellow as was standing treat a knobber on the head as lasted him three weeks.  She was too good for this here world, she was, and too rummantic.  ‘Go to blazes,’ she says to him, ‘here’s Jack Pringle come home.’”

“Very romantic indeed,” said Charles.

“Yes, I believe you, sir; and that puts me in mind of Miss Flora and you.”

“An extremely flattering comparison.  Of course I feel much obliged.”

“Oh, don’t name it, sir.  The British tar as can’t oblige a feller-cretor is unworthy to tread the quarter-deck, or to bear a hand to the distress of a woman.”

“Very well,” said Charles.  “Now, as we are here, precede me, if you please, and let me beg of you to be especially cautious in your manner of announcing me.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” said Jack:  and away he walked towards the cottage, leaving Charles some distance behind.

Flora and the admiral were sitting together conversing.  The old man, who loved her as if she had been a child of his own, was endeavouring, to the extent of his ability, to assuage the anguish of her thoughts, which at that moment chanced to be bent upon Charles Holland.

“Nevermind, my dear,” he said; “he’ll turn up some of these days, and when he does, I sha’n’t forget to tell him that it was you who stood out for his honesty and truth, when every one else was against him, including myself, an old wretch that I was.”

“Oh, sir, how could you for one moment believe that those letters could have been written by your nephew Charles?  They carried, sir, upon the face of them their own refutation; and I’m only surprised that for one instant you, or any one who knew him, could have believed him capable of writing them.”

“Avast, there,” said the admiral; “that’ll do.  I own you got the better of the old sailor there.  I think you and Jack Pringle were the only two persons who stood out from the first.”

“Then I honour Jack for doing so.”

“And here he is,” said the admiral, “and you’d better tell him.  The mutinous rascal! he wants all the honour he can get, as a set-off against his drunkenness and other bad habits.”

Jack walked into the room, looked about him in silence for a moment, thrust his hands in his breeches pockets, and gave a long whistle.

“What’s the matter now?” said the admiral.