s. Oldfield
peeped. She saw Bella Bruce at some distance, seated by the fire, in a
reverie.

Judge that young lady's astonishment when she looked up and observed a
large white, well-shaped hand, sparkling with diamonds and rubies,
beckoning her furtively.

The owner of that sparkling hand soon heard a soft rustle of silk come
toward the door; the very rustle, somehow, was eloquent, and betrayed
love and timidity, and something innocent yet subtle. The jeweled hand
went in again directly.

CHAPTER VIII.

MEANTIME Mr. Oldfield began to tell the admiral who he was, and that he
was come to remove a false impression about a client of his, Sir
Charles Bassett.

"That, sir," said the admiral, sternly, "is a name we never mention
here."

He rose and went to the folding-doors, and deliberately closed them.

The Somerset, thus defeated, bit her lip, and sat all of a heap, like a
cat about to spring, looking sulky and vicious.

Mr. Oldfield persisted, and, as he took the admiral's hint and lowered
his voice, he was interrupted no more, but made a simple statement of
those facts which are known to the reader.

Admiral Bruce heard them, and admitted that the case was not quite so
bad as he had thought.

Then Mr. Oldfield proposed that Sir Charles should be re-admitted.

"No," said the old admiral, firmly; "turn it how you will, it is too
ugly; the bloom of the thing is gone. Why should my daughter take that
woman's leavings? Why should I give her pure heart to a man about
town?"

"Because you will break it else," said Miss Somerset, with affected
politeness.

"Give her credit for more dignity, madam, if you please," replied
Admiral Bruce, with equal politeness.

"Oh, bother dignity!" cried the Somerset.

At this free phrase from so well-dressed a lady Admiral Bruce opened
his eyes, and inquired of Oldfield, rather satirically, who was this
lady that did him the honor to interfere in his family affairs.

Oldfield looked confused; but Somerset, full of mother-wit, was not to
be caught napping. "I'm a by-stander; and they always see clearer than
the folk themselves. You are a man of honor, sir, and you are very
clever at sea, no doubt, and a fighter, and all that; but you are no
match for land-sharks. You are being made a dupe and a tool of. Who do
you think wrote that anonymous letter to your daughter? A friend of
truth? a friend of injured innocence? Nothing of the sort. One Richard
Bassett--Sir Charl