mild, and middle-aged little man, with a bald
head, a deprecatory expression of countenance, and a pen behind his ear.

"Mr Grinder," said Mr Webster, putting strong constraint on himself,
and pretending to be quite composed, "a letter from Covelly informs me
that it is feared the _Water Lily_ has been wrecked in--"

"The _Water Lily_, sir!" exclaimed Grinder, starting as if he had
received an electric shock.

"I spoke audibly, did I not?" said Mr Webster, turning with a sharp
look on his confidential clerk.

"Ye-es, sir, but, I--Miss An--" The poor man could get no further, being
of a timid, nervous temperament, and Mr Webster, paying no attention to
his remark, was going on to say that he intended to go by the mail to
Covelly without delay to ascertain the truth for himself, when he was
interrupted by the confidential clerk who exclaimed in a burst of
agitation--

"There were _two_ letters, sir, from Covelly this morning--did you
read--"

He stopped, for already his employer had sought for, found, and torn
open the second epistle, which was written in a fair, legible hand. It
ran thus:--

"SIR,--My father, Captain Boyns, directs me to inform you that your
daughter, Miss Annie, has been saved from the wreck of your brig, the
_Water Lily_, which ran aground here this afternoon, and has become a
total wreck. Your daughter's nurse and the crew have also been
rescued by our new lifeboat, which is a noble craft, and, with God's
blessing, will yet do good service on this coast. I have pleasure in
adding, from myself, that it was my father who rescued your child.
She fell into the sea when being passed from the wreck into the boat,
and sank, but my father dived and brought her up in safety.

"Much of the brig's cargo has been lost, I regret to say, but a good
deal of it has been washed ashore and saved in a damaged state. The
captain says that defective compasses were the cause of the disaster.
There is not time to give you a more particular account, as it is
close upon post-time. Miss Annie sends you her kindest love, and bids
me say she is none the worse of what she has passed through.--I am,
sir, your obedient servant,

"HARRY BOYNS."

"Thank God!" exclaimed Mr Webster fervently. "Why, what are you
staring at, Mr Grinder?" he added, on observing that his confidential
servant was gazing at him with an expression of considerable surprise.

"Excuse me, sir," stammered the