me."

He laid it on the table, and then went away, for a first lieutenant in
harbour has no time to lose. The next person who came was Tom, holding
in his hand a letter from Mary, with a postscript from his mother.

"Well, Jacob," said he, "I have news to tell you. Mary says that Mr
Turnbull is dead, and has left her father 200 pounds, and that she has
been told that he has left you something handsome."

"He has indeed, Tom," replied I; "read this letter."

While Tom was reading, I perceived the letter from Mr Drummond, which I
had forgotten. I opened it. It communicated the same intelligence as
that of the lawyer, in fewer words; recommended my immediate return, and
enclosed a bill upon his house for 100 pounds, to enable me to appear in
a manner corresponding to my present condition.

"Well," said Tom, "this is, indeed, good news, Jacob. You are a
gentleman at last, as you deserve to be. It has made me so happy; what
do you mean to do?"

"I have my discharge here," replied I, "and am ordered a passage home."

"Better still. I am so happy, Jacob; so happy. But what _is_ to become
of me?" And Tom passed the back of his hand across his eyes to brush
away a tear.

"You shall soon follow me, Tom, if I can manage it either by money or
any influence."

"I will manage it, if you don't, Jacob. I won't stay here without you,
that I am determined."

"Do nothing rashly, Tom. I am sure I can buy your discharge, and on my
arrival in England I will not think of anything else until it is done."

"You must be quick, then, Jacob, for I'm sure I can't stay here long."

"Trust to me, Tom; you'll still find me Jacob Faithful," said I,
extending my hand. Tom squeezed it earnestly, and with moistened eyes,
turned away, and walked forward.

The news had spread through the ship, and many of the officers, as well
as the men, came to congratulate me. What would I have given to have
been allowed only one half-hour to myself--one half-hour in which I
might be permitted to compose my excited feelings--to have returned
thanks for such unexpected happiness, and paid a tribute to the memory
of so sincere a friend? But in a ship this is almost impossible,
unless, as an officer, you can retreat to your own cabin; and those
gushings from the heart, arising from grief or pleasure, the tears so
sweet in solitude, must be prostituted before the crowd, or altogether
repressed. At last the wished-for opportunity did come. Mr Wi