“Too violent!  Why, it would make a coward violent to see his mother tormented as you are by this fellow, and not to be allowed to put a stop to it.  I suspect—­”

“Henry,” said the widow, again interrupting her exasperated son, “do you think your mother would do what is wrong?”

“Mother,” exclaimed the youth, seizing her hand, and kissing her brow almost violently, “I would as soon think that the angels above would do wrong; but I firmly believe that you are suffering wrong to be done to you; and—­just listen to the fellow!  I do not believe he’s howling for more bacon at this moment!”

There could be no doubt whatever about the fact; for just then the deep tones of Gascoyne’s voice rang through the cottage, as he reiterated the name of the widow, who hastened away, followed by her son.  Henry scarcely took the trouble to conceal the frown that darkened his brow as he re-entered the apartment where his companions were seated.

“Why, Mary, your bacon surpasses anything I have tasted for the last six months; let’s have another rasher, like a good woman.  That mountain air sharpens the appetite amazingly; especially of men who are more accustomed to mount the rigging of a ship than the hills on shore.  What say you, John Bumpus?”

John Bumpus could not at that moment say anything, in consequence of his mouth being so full of the bacon referred to that there was no room for a single word to pass his lips.  In the height of his good-humor, however, he did his best by signs to express his entire approval of the widow’s provender, and even attempted to speak.  In so doing he choked himself, and continued in convulsions for the next five minutes, to the immense delight of the captain, who vowed he had never before seen such a blue face in the whole course of his life.

While this scene was enacting, and ere Jo Bumpus had effectually wiped away the tears from his eyes, and cleared the bacon out of his windpipe, the door opened, and the commander of H.M.S.  Talisman entered.

Edmund Montague was a young man to hold such a responsible position in the navy; but he was a bold, vigorous little Englishman,—­a sort of gentlemanly and well-educated John Bull terrier; a frank address, agreeable manners, and an utterly reckless temperament, which was qualified and curbed, however, by good sense and hard-earned experience.

“Good-day to you, Mrs. Stuart; I trust you will forgive my abrupt intrusion, but urgent business must be my excuse.  I have called to have a little further conversation with your son respecting that rascally pirate who has given me so much trouble.  If he will have the good ness to take a short walk with me, I shall be much indebted.”

“By all means,” said Henry, rising and putting on his cap.

“Perhaps,” said Gascoyne, as they were about to leave the room, “if the commander of the Talisman would condescend to take a little information from a stranger, he might learn something to the purpose regarding the pirate Durward; for he it is, I presume, of whom you are in search.”