remember it--now; my mind--still--confused,"--here Tom Wychecombe
again nudged the master--"Sir Gervaise Oakes--an Admiral--ancient
baronet--man of high honour. Admiral Bluewater, too--relative--Lord
Bluewater; gentleman--universal esteem. You, too, Rotherham; wish my
poor brother James--St. James--used to call him--had been
living;--you--good neighbour--Rotherham."

"Can I do any thing to prove it, my dear Sir Wycherly? Nothing would
make me happier than to know, and to comply with, all your wishes, at a
moment so important!"

"Let all quit--room--but yourself--head feels worse--I cannot delay--"

"'Tis cruel to distress my beloved uncle with business, or conversation,
in his present state," interposed Tom Wychecombe, with emphasis, and, in
a slight degree, with authority.

All not only felt the truth of this, but all felt that the speaker, by
his consanguinity, had a clear right to interfere, in the manner he had.
Still Sir Gervaise Oakes had great reluctance in yielding to this
remonstrance; for, to the distrust he had imbibed of Tom Wychecombe, was
added an impression that his host wished to reveal something of
interest, in connection with his new favourite, the lieutenant. He felt
compelled, notwithstanding, to defer to the acknowledged nephew's better
claims, and he refrained from interfering. Fortunately, Sir Wycherly was
yet in a state to enforce his own wishes.

"Let all quit--room," he repeated, in a voice that was startling by its
unexpected firmness, and equally unexpected distinctness. "All but Sir
Gervaise Oakes--Admiral Bluewater--Mr. Rotherham, Gentlemen--favour to
remain--rest depart."

Accustomed to obey their master's orders, more especially when given in
a tone so decided, the domestics quitted the room, accompanied by
Dutton; but Tom Wychecombe saw fit to remain, as if his presence were to
be a matter of course.

"Do me--favour--withdraw,--Mr. Wychecombe," resumed the baronet, after
fixing his gaze on his nephew for some time, as if expecting him to
retire without this request.

"My beloved uncle, it is I--Thomas, your own brother's son--your next of
kin--waiting anxiously by your respected bed-side. Do not--do
not--confound me with strangers. Such a forgetfulness would break my
heart!"

"Forgive me, nephew--but I wish--alone with these
gentle----head--getting--confused--"

"You see how it is, Sir Gervaise Oakes--you see how it is, Mr.
Rotherham. Ah! there goes the coach that is to tak