own Margaret; how, in her character of supreme manager of the paralytic officer's affairs, she kept my letters; how she worked on Margaret's feelings to bring about a marriage with the Earl of Falcondale, in the hope of again acquiring a maternal footing in her son's house, and the right of managing a portionless daughter-in-law; how Margaret held out stoutly until informed of my broken faith; and how her marriage was kept from the public papers. One night, I thought, as I bade the countess good night, that I perceived a light breeze arising. This I remarked to her, and she received the observation with a pleasure which found no correspondent emotion in my own bosom. As I descended to my berth, I fancied I dcscried among the sailors one Girod Jacqueminot, whose face I had not before remarked. He was a Frenchman, to whom I had, during my residence abroad, rendered some signal services, and who, though but a wild fellow, had sworn to me eternal gratitude. He skulked, however, behind his fellows, and did not now, it appeared, choose to rccognise his benefactor.
I believe I slept profoundly that night. When I awoke, there was a sound of dashing waves against the vessel, and a bustle of sailors' voices, and a blustering noise of wind among the sails and rigging; and I soon perceived that our ship was scudding before a stiff, nay, almost stormy gale. I peeped through the seaward opening of my little cabin. The scene was strangely changed. It was scarcely dawn. I looked for the white sails of our accompanying vessels, and our convoy. All had disappeared. We seemed alone on those leaden-coloured billows. At this moment, I heard a voice in broken English say, 'Confound—while I reef tose tammed top-sails, my pipe go out.'—'Light it again, then, at the binnacle, Monseer,' said a sailor.—' Yes, and be hanged to de yard-arm by our coot captain for firing de sheep. Comment faire? Sacrebleu! I cannot even tink vidout my pipe. De tought! Monsieur in de leetle coop dere have always de lamp patent burning for hees lecture. Ho sleep now. I go enter gently—light my pipe.' He crept into my cabin as he spoke. 'How's this, my friend?' said I, speaking in French; 'does not your captain know that we are out of sight of convoy?' Girod answered in his native language,—'Oh! that I had seen you sooner. You think, perhaps, I have forgotten all I owe you? No—no—but 'tis too late now!' He pointed to the horizon. On its very verge one sail was yet visible. A faint rolling noise came over the water. 'It is the British frigate,' said Girod, 'firing to us to put our ship about, and keep under convoy. But our captain has no intention of
