nd her colour vanished.

"I think it is--stay--no--it looks like--yes, it _is_ he," said Mrs
Westwood.

Flora's face and neck became scarlet.

Presently the plash of oars were heard near the vessel, and next moment
a boat approached, but not from such a quarter as to be visible from the
port-hole.

"Mind your starboard oar," said a deep voice, which caused Flora's heart
to beat against her chest, as if that dear little receptacle of good
thoughts and warm feelings were too small to contain it, and it wanted
to get out.

"Good morning, Mr Osten," cried Mr Westwood, looking down.

"Good morning, sir,--good morning, Mrs Westwood," answered Will,
looking up.

"It is very kind of you to take the trouble to come off to bid us
good-bye," said Mr Westwood.

Flora trembled a little, and leaned upon the side of the berth.

"I have not come to say good-bye," said Will (Flora's eyes opened wide
with astonishment), "I am going--fend off, men, fend off, mind what you
are about--I am going," he said, looking up with a smile, "to sail with
you to England."

A peculiar gleam shot from Flora's eyes; the blood mantled again on her
brow, and, sinking into a chair, she pressed her hands to her face and
buried her head in her father's pillow!

CHAPTER SEVEN.

RAMBLING REMINISCENCES OF ABSENT FRIENDS, AND A HAPPY TERMINATION.

On the evening of a cold December day--the last day of the year--many
months after the occurrence of the events narrated in the last chapter,
old Mrs Osten sat in her drawing-room, toasting her toes before a
cheerful fire. The widow looked very happy, and, to say truth, she had
good reason for being so, for her stalwart son had come home to her safe
and sound, and was at that moment sitting by her side talking in a most
amazing way about his Flora--referring to her as a sort of captive bird
which had now no chance of escaping, saying that he meant to take her to
Paris, and Switzerland, and Rome, and in summer to the English Lakes,
and Killarney, and the Scotch Highlands.

"In fact, mother," said Will, "after that little event comes off, which
is fixed to take place next week, I mean to act the part of Wandering
Will over again under entirely new and much more interesting
circumstances. Ah! mother," he continued with enthusiasm, "how little
did I think, when I was travelling through the wild regions of the far
west, that I was being led to the spot where I should find _such_ a
wife!"

"Yes, dea