here that beautiful
ship first appeared, which the cruel ocean dashed to fragments on these
rocks of Shetland, floats her counterpart. Can it be her--the `Saint
Cecilia' herself? Is all that has passed for these long years a dream?
No, no; it has been too real, too palpable, too full of pain, and
sorrow, and hope deferred, to be a dream. Yet, what is that?--a ship,
come to mock me, as others have done; first to raise my hopes that my
long-lost son is on board, and again as bitterly to disappoint them."

"Yes, cousin; that is a ship, and a very fine ship, too; a British
man-of-war, I judge, by the ensign which floats proudly at her peak,"
said a voice behind her.

Hilda turned quickly round, and an angry frown rose on her brow as she
saw Lawrence Brindister, who had entered just as she had discovered the
strange ship. He shuffled up to the window, with a peculiar gait partly
caused by the size of his shoes. His appearance, as he advanced in age,
had become more grotesque. He wore a gay-flowered waistcoat, with knee
breeches, and huge silver buckles on his shoes. His coat, which was
much too large for his now shrunken figure, was trimmed with gold lace
in a style already long gone out of fashion. His grey eyes looked
larger and rounder than ever, while his hair, which had become perfectly
white, was cropped short, and stood on end like the quills of an
irritated porcupine.

"Why comes she here, I wonder?" he continued. "Once upon a time, I
would have gone to ascertain, but my old arms can now scarcely paddle a
boat across the voe, and were I to attempt to go, and the tide catch me,
I might be swept helplessly out to sea. It might not be a bad ending
for the puir auld daft bodie, you'll be saying, cousin, and a wonder it
had never happened before. But I've some work to do before that time,
Hilda. `The prince will hae his ain again! The prince will hae his ain
again!' and before long too, let me tell you, cousin."

"Lawrence, what is the import of those words?" exclaimed Hilda,
vehemently, grasping his arm as she spoke; "for years past you have
uttered them. I adjure you, tell me what you mean."

"Cousin, I am but a puir fule," answered Lawrence, looking calmly into
her face; "fules speak mony things without meaning, ye ken."

Hilda looked steadfastly in his face, and he returned her gaze with an
expression so unmoved and idiotic, that she saw it was hopeless to
expect a satisfactory reply.

They were