out that."

"Too bad," returned the youth; "I never rise to poetry in your presence,
Minnie, without being snubbed. But you cannot cure me. Romance is too
deeply ingrained in my soul. Poetry flows from me like--like anything!
I am a midshipman in the British Navy, a position which affords scope
for the wildest enthusiasm, and--and--I'll astonish you yet, see if I
don't."

"I am sure you will, dear boy," said his mother; and she believed that
he would!

"Of course you will," added his sister; and she at least hoped that he
would.

To say truth, there was nothing about the youth--as regards appearance
or character--which rendered either the assurance or the hope
unwarrantable. He was not tall, but he was strong and active. He was
not exactly handsome, but he was possessed of a genial, hearty
disposition, a playful spirit, and an earnest soul; also a modestly
reckless nature which was quite captivating.

"You won't be anxious about me, mother, if I don't return till pretty
late," he said, rising. "I want a good long, refreshing pull, but I'll
be back in time to say good-night to you, Minnie, before you go to
sleep."

"Your leave expires on Thursday, mind," said his sister; "we cannot
spare you long."

"I shall be back in good time, trust me. _Au revoir_," he said, with a
pleasant nod, as he left the room.

And they did trust him; for our midshipman, George Foster, was
trustworthy; but those "circumstances" over which people have "no
control" are troublesome derangers of the affairs of man. That was the
last the mother and sister saw of George for the space of nearly two
years!

Taking his way to the pebbly shore, young Foster hired a small boat, or
punt, from a man who knew him well, declined the owner's services,
pushed off, seized the oars, and rowed swiftly out to sea. It was, as
he had said, a splendid night. The stars bespangled the sky like
diamond-dust. The water was as clear as a mirror, and the lights of
Nice seemed to shoot far down into its depths. The hum of the city came
off with ever-deepening softness as the distance from the shore
increased. The occasional sound of oars was heard not far off, though
boats and rowers were invisible, for there was no moon, and the night
was dark notwithstanding the starlight.

There was no fear, however, of the young sailor losing himself while the
city lights formed such a glorious beacon astern.

After pulling steadily for an hour or more he res