Sir George would laughingly say, and vow vengeance on Ellen,
for daring to doubt the excellence of his memory; as she one day
ventured to hint that it was so very many years, it was quite impossible
Sir George could remember the names of all the middies under him. It was
much more probable, Sir George would retort, that slavery had
bewildered the poor man's understanding, and that he fancied he was
acquainted with the first English names he heard.

"Never mind, Nell, he has been a slave, poor fellow, so we will not
treat him as an impostor, the first moment he reaches his native land,"
was the general conclusion of the old Admiral's jokes, as each day
increased his impatience for Edward's return.

He was gratified at length, and as generally happens, when least
expected, for protesting he would not be impatient any more, he amused
himself by setting little Lord Lyle on his knee, and was so amused by
the child's playful prattle and joyous laugh, that he forgot to watch at
the window, which was his general post. Ellen was busily engaged in
nursing Caroline's babe, now about six months old.

"Give me Mary, Ellen," said the young Earl, entering the room, with
pleasure visibly impressed on his features. "You will have somebody else
to kiss in a moment, and unless you can bear joy as composedly as you
can sorrow, why I tremble for the fate of my little Mary."

"What do you mean, St. Eval? you shall not take my baby from me, unless
you can give me a better reason."

"I mean that Edward will be here in five minutes, if he be not already.
Ah, Ellen, you will resign Mary now. Come to me, little lady," and the
young father caught his child from Ellen's trembling hands, and dancing
her high in the air, was rewarded by her loud crow of joy.

In another minute, Edward was in the room, and clasped to his sister's
beating heart. It was an agitating moment, for it seemed to Ellen's
excited fancy that Edward was indeed restored to her from the dead, he
had not merely returned from a long and dangerous voyage. The young
sailor, as he released her from his embrace, looked with an uncontrolled
impulse round the room. All were not there he loved; he did not miss
Emmeline, but Herbert--oh, his gentle voice was not heard amongst the
many that crowded round to greet him. He looked on his aunt, her deep
mourning robe, he thought her paler, thinner than he had ever seen her
before, and the impetuous young man could not be restrained, he flu