’But we did not receive this letter till long, long after we heard of the mutiny.  Poor Fred!  I dare say it was a comfort to him to write it even though he could not have known how to send it, poor fellow!  And then we saw a report in the papers—­that’s to say, long before Fred’s letter reached us—­of an atrocious mutiny having broken out on board the Russell, and that the mutineers had remained in possession of the ship, which had gone off, it was supposed, to be a pirate; and that Captain Reid was sent adrift in a boat with some men—­officers or something—­whose names were all given, for they were picked up by a West-Indian steamer.  Oh, Margaret! how your father and I turned sick over that list, when there was no name of Frederick Hale.  We thought it must be some mistake; for poor Fred was such a fine fellow, only perhaps rather too passionate; and we hoped that the name of Carr, which was in the list, was a misprint for that of Hale—­newspapers are so careless.  And towards post-time the next day, papa set off to walk to Southampton to get the papers; and I could not stop at home, so I went to meet him.  He was very late—­much later than I thought he would have been; and I sat down under the hedge to wait for him.  He came at last, his arms hanging loose down, his head sunk, and walking heavily along, as if every step was a labour and a trouble.  Margaret, I see him now.’

‘Don’t go on, mamma.  I can understand it all,’ said Margaret, leaning up caressingly against her mother’s side, and kissing her hand.

’No, you can’t, Margaret.  No one can who did not see him then.  I could hardly lift myself up to go and meet him—­everything seemed so to reel around me all at once.  And when I got to him, he did not speak, or seem surprised to see me there, more than three miles from home, beside the Oldham beech-tree; but he put my arm in his, and kept stroking my hand, as if he wanted to soothe me to be very quiet under some great heavy blow; and when I trembled so all over that I could not speak, he took me in his arms, and stooped down his head on mine, and began to shake and to cry in a strange muffled, groaning voice, till I, for very fright, stood quite still, and only begged him to tell me what he had heard.  And then, with his hand jerking, as if some one else moved it against his will, he gave me a wicked newspaper to read, calling our Frederick a “traitor of the blackest dye,” “a base, ungrateful disgrace to his profession.”  Oh!  I cannot tell what bad words they did not use.  I took the paper in my hands as soon as I had read it—­I tore it up to little bits—­I tore it—­oh!  I believe Margaret, I tore it with my teeth.  I did not cry.  I could not.  My cheeks were as hot as fire, and my very eyes burnt in my head.  I saw your father looking grave at me.  I said it was a lie, and so it was.  Months after, this letter came, and you see what provocation Frederick had.  It was not for himself, or his own injuries, he rebelled; but he would speak his mind to Captain Reid, and so it went on from bad to worse; and you see, most of the sailors stuck by Frederick.