,
now. Do I look like the here of a romantic love story?"

"Not exactly, I admit."--"Well, notwithstanding that, Jack Pringle has
touched a chord that vibrates in my heart yet," replied the admiral.

"Have you any objection to tell me of it?"--"None, whatever; and
perhaps, by the time I have done, the doctor may have found his way back
again, or Jack may bring us some news of him. So here goes for a short,
but a true yarn."

CHAPTER LXVII.

THE ADMIRAL'S STORY OF THE BEAUTIFUL BELINDA.

[Illustration]

Just at this moment Flora Bannerworth stole into the room from whence
she had departed a short time since; but when she saw that old Admiral
Bell was looking so exceedingly serious, and apparently about to address
Henry upon some very important subject, she would have retired, but he
turned towards her, and said,--

"My story, my dear, I've no objection to your hearing, and, like all
women folks, a love story never comes amiss to you; so you may as well
stay and hear it."--"A love story," said Flora; "you tell a love story,
sir?"

"Yes, my dear, and not only tell it, but be the hero of it, likewise;
ain't you astonished?"--"I am, indeed."

"Well, you'll be more astonished then before I've done; so just listen.
As Jack Pringle says, it was the matter of about somewhere forty years
ago, that I was in command of the Victory frigate, which was placed upon
the West Indian station, during a war then raging, for the protection of
our ports and harbours in that vicinity. We'd not a strong force in that
quarter, therefore, I had to cut about from place to place, and do the
best I could. After a time, though, I rather think that we frightened
off the enemy, during which time I chiefly anchored off the island of
Antigua, and was hospitably received at the house of a planter, of the
name of Marchant, who, in fact, made his house my home, and introduced
me to all the _elite_ of the society of the island. Ah! Miss Flora,
you've no idea, to look at me now, what I was then; I held a captain's
commission, and was nearly the youngest man in the service, with such a
rank. I was as slender, ay, as a dancing master. These withered and
bleached locks were black as the raven's plume. Ay, ay, but no matter:
the planter had a daughter."

"And you loved her?" said Flora--"Loved her," said the old man, and the
flush of youthful animation come to his countenance; "loved her, do you
say! I adored her; I worshipped her; she was to