The gentleman who seemed to be pleading an unsuccessful suit, wore the undress uniform of the English navy, and in the outer harbor, in view of the very spot where they sat, there rode a sloop-of-war with St. George’s cross floating at her peak.  The officer was young, but bore the insignia of his rank upon his person, which showed him to be the captain of yonder proud vessel.  He might have been five or six and twenty, but scarcely more, and bore about him those unmistakable tokens of gentle birth which will shine through the coarsest as well as the finest attire.  The lady was not regarding him now; her eyes were bent on the distant sea, but still he pleaded, still urged in gentle tones the suit he brought.

“I see, Miss Huntington has some more favored swain on whom to bestow her favors; but I am sure that she has no truer friend, or more ardent admirer.”

“You are altogether mistaken in your premises,” she said, coolly, as she tossed her fragrant fan of sandal wood, perfuming the soft atmosphere about them.

“A subject who sues for a favor at court, Miss Huntington, if he is unsuccessful, thinks himself at least entitled to know the reason why he is denied.”

“But suppose the Court declines to give him a reason,” said the lady, still coolly.

“Its decision admits of no appeal, I must acknowledge,” replied her suitor.

“Then reason I have none, captain; and so pray let that suffice.”

“But, Miss Huntington, surely—­”

“Nay, captain,” she said, at last, weary of his importunity, “you know well my feelings.  Far be it from me to play for one moment the coquette’s part.  I thank you for the compliment you pay me by these assurances, but you are fully aware that I can never encourage a suit that finds no response in my heart.  I trust that no word or act of mine has ever deceived you for one moment.”

“No, Miss Huntington, you have ever been thus cold and impassive towards me, ever turning a deaf ear to my prayer.  Why, why can you not love me?”

“Nay, captain, we will not enter into particulars; it is needless, it is worse than needless, and a matter that is exceedingly unpleasant to me.  I must earnestly beg, sir, that you will not again refer to this subject under any circumstance.”

“Your commands are law to me, Miss Huntington,” answered the discomfited lover, as he rose from the seat he had occupied by her side, and turned partially away.

It was well he did so, for had she seen the demoniac expression of his countenance as he struggled to control the vehemence of his feelings, she would have feared that he might do either her or himself violence.

“May I not hope that years of fond attachment, years of continued assiduity, may yet outweigh your indifference, Miss Huntington?” he said earnestly.

“Indeed, indeed no.  You do but pain me by this continuance of a subject that—­Ah, mother!” she said, interrupting herself, “I have been looking at the captain’s ship, yonder; is she not a noble craft?  And how daintily she floats upon the waters?”