'I have been listening to her charming voice. Is she your only child, sir?' 'I lost a promising young son in the navy eight years ago,' answered the commander. 'I served as midshipman in the navy,' exclaimed Captain Jackman. 'Oh!' said the commander, with sudden interest. 'What ship and captain, sir?' 'The _Parkhurst_; Captain Trottman.' 'I knew them both. A fine frigate, and a stout seaman. Why didn't you stick to the service?' 'Why, the life of the mercantile flag was free and easy; it offered more money; it provided plenty of voyages and chances. I never particularly coveted the glory that was to be got in the navy. I should want my flag first.' 'That sort of glory is a slow sunrise with us, sir,' said the commander. 'Then, again, I was to a certain degree independent,' continued Captain Jackman, talking in a careless, confidential way. 'My father had left me an annuity--not, indeed, enough to roll on wheels with--that and a small, handsome brig under two hundred tons, now lying in the East India Dock. I have often been tempted to sell her. Now that my kindly owners have given me my quietus through no fault of my own, I have a very great mind to fit her out----' 'And go for a cruise on the Account,' interrupted the clear voice of a girl. And Captain Jackman, turning, clasped the extended hand of Miss Conway. Her garb was simple and charming. The hat she held was a kind of helmet, with a wreath and a tuft of feathers. She stood in the pride of her fine but simple apparel. 'Breakfast should be ready,' said the commander. He led the way into the house. Captain Jackman and Miss Conway followed, chatting with life and spirit over the wonderful incident of yesterday. How could such a heart-shaking sensation be exhausted! The commander had furnished a savoury breakfast of large fried soles and delicate fried whiting, and bacon and eggs. They seated themselves; and when the captain had concluded his apologies for detaining the commander, he turned to Miss Conway, and said-- 'You have read books which deal with pirates?' 'Yes. Papa will tell you that I was ever a lover of the pirate. I mean the real thing, not the Byronic dandy with his bright costume and four or five houris and lovely homes on coral strands. I love the rough brute with a slash across his brow--the man who has lost a piece of his nose, who, perhaps, has captured a Spanish galleon whilst skipper of a vessel of twenty or thirty tons.' 'It has been done,' said the commander. 'If there's a scoundrel this side the moon, it's the pirate. All the woods of Scotland could not furnish gibbets enough for him. Give the piccaroon the stem, you know. That's the cry through the service, sir. We'd show mercy to anything else.'