The boat to convey them on shore was being lowered, and they were preparing to move forward.  Just then the vessel was boarded by a stranger.

’Is that one of the creatures of your Customs?  I did imagine we were safe from them,’ exclaimed the Countess.

The diplomatist laughingly requested her to save herself anxiety on that score, while under his wing.  But she had drawn attention to the intruder, who was seen addressing one of the midshipmen.  He was a man in a long brown coat and loose white neckcloth, spectacles on nose, which he wore considerably below the bridge and peered over, as if their main use were to sight his eye; a beaver hat, with broadish brim, on his head.  A man of no station, it was evident to the ladies at once, and they would have taken no further notice of him had he not been seen stepping toward them in the rear of the young midshipman.

The latter came to Evan, and said:  ’A fellow of the name of Goren wants you.  Says there’s something the matter at home.’

Evan advanced, and bowed stiffly.

Mr. Goren held out his hand.  ’You don’t remember me, young man?  I cut out your first suit for you when you were breeched, though!  Yes-ah!  Your poor father wouldn’t put his hand to it.  Goren!’

Embarrassed, and not quite alive to the chapter of facts this name should have opened to him, Evan bowed again.

‘Goren!’ continued the possessor of the name.  He had a cracked voice, that when he spoke a word of two syllables, commenced with a lugubrious crow, and ended in what one might have taken for a curious question.

’It is a bad business brings me, young man.  I ’m not the best messenger for such tidings.  It’s a black suit, young man!  It’s your father!’

The diplomatist and his lady gradually edged back but Rose remained beside the Countess, who breathed quick, and seemed to have lost her self-command.

Thinking he was apprehended, Mr. Goren said:  ’I ’m going down to-night to take care of the shop.  He ’s to be buried in his old uniform.  You had better come with me by the night-coach, if you would see the last of him, young man.’

Breaking an odd pause that had fallen, the Countess cried aloud, suddenly: 

‘In his uniform!’

Mr. Goren felt his arm seized and his legs hurrying him some paces into isolation.  ‘Thanks! thanks!’ was murmured in his ear.  ’Not a word more.  Evan cannot bear it.  Oh! you are good to have come, and we are grateful.  My father! my father!’

She had to tighten her hand and wrist against her bosom to keep herself up.  She had to reckon in a glance how much Rose had heard, or divined.  She had to mark whether the Count had understood a syllable.  She had to whisper to Evan to hasten away with the horrible man.