She stumped upstairs. The commander ate his fish, often looking hard out of the window. Keen distress worked in his bosom. But his face of iron masked it. She had left no letter, he thought to himself. _She_ would have no talent at kindness in unkindness. She must sheath her knife to the hilt to make the stroke effectual to her. As he thought thus, Mrs. Dove entered bearing a note. Her face had lost its working wrinkles of horror; she entered with something of gaiety. 'I've found this behind the dressing-table, where it had been blown down by the draught from the open window. I knew--I knew, dear heart, she wouldn't go away without saying good-bye.' She handed the letter to the commander, who quietly put down his knife and fork, took the letter, and read-- 'Commander Conway, R.N.' He then opened the letter. It was of two folded sheets, with very little in them, and the missive ran thus-- 'DEAR FATHER, 'I am eloping to-night with my darling Walter Jackman. This uncomfortable form of marriage need not have happened had you proved reasonable, but you were ever in extremes in your likes and dislikes. I am now going to be happy after many years of dulness and contemptible vexations, where my beauty was fast yellowing, and where I had not a friend whom I valued. I do not say where we are going, for I do not want you to give yourself the trouble of following me. It is impossible for you to miss me. We saw so little of each other. It was only the sense of my being in the house that gave you satisfaction. I will write to you when I am settled, and shall hope to hear from you. And so, with love, and a kiss of farewell, and begging you will not take this too much to heart, 'I am, 'Your always affectionate daughter, 'ADA CONWAY.' 'Always affectionate daughter!' rasped out the commander, bringing his fist down on a sheet of the letter. 'How do you like the notion of calling Ada Conway Mrs. Walter Jackman?' And he ground his teeth, and left the breakfast-table. 'I am glad I found the letter,' said Mrs. Dove. 'It shows she's not so bad. But, oh, she's wicked--she's wicked to treat her poor old father so.' Conway cut the old woman short by stepping on to his lawn. He filled a pipe, and paced to and fro. A little cannon stood at each corner of this lawn, and amidships there had been reared a mighty flagstaff, which one night came down in a gale of wind with an incredible thunder of noise. It did little mischief; yet had it struck the commander's house, it is odds, seeing that his bedroom immediately faced it, if it had not smashed him as flat as his roof. He walked for some time meditating in exasperation. He was helpless. What could he do? Presently there came along the cliff's side, within easy hail of the commander, Mr. Leaddropper and Captain Burgoyne. Both men were wrapped in stout pilot-cloth, and the sea never shaped, chiselled, coloured, clothed, and sent adrift to get a living a more perfect sailor than Burgoyne.