“When his father died, leaving his great wealth to Walter, he begged to invest it with us, and liking the lad we were glad to have him with us. Beginning at the bottom, by sheer force of ability and industry, within ten years he has become our manager. I am sure John Dunlap, your namesake, never told Lucy that he loved her before he sailed for China. The pride of the man would hold back such a declaration to our heiress. So with Jack away, his love, if it exist, for Lucy untold, it is not strange that Burton, and he is a most charming man, in constant attendance upon my granddaughter should have won her heart. He is handsome, educated, cultured and wealthy. I could imagine no cause for an objection, so when he asked for Lucy’s hand I assented. The arrangements are completed and they will be married next month. Lucy wished you to witness the ceremony and wrote you and you hasten from Haiti home with this unpleasant discovery. Now, John, think of Lucy and tell me, brother, what your heart says is our duty.” James Dunlap, exhausted by the vehement earnestness that he had put into this long speech, recounting the events and circumstances that had led up to the approaching marriage of his granddaughter, dropped into one of the large armchairs near the fire, waiting for a reply, while his brother continued his nervous tramp across the room. Silence was finally disturbed by a light knock on the door and a messenger entered, saying that Captain Dunlap begged permission to speak with the firm a few moments. When the name was announced the two brothers exchanged glances that seemed to say, “The man I was thinking of.” “Show him in, of course,” cried John Dunlap, eagerly stopping in his monotonous pacing up and down the room. The door opened again and there entered the room a man of about twenty-seven years of age, rather below the medium height of Americans, but of such breadth of shoulders and depth of chest as to give evidence of unusual physical strength. A sailor, every inch a sailor, anyone could tell, from the top of his curly blonde hair to the sole of his square toed boots. His sunburnt face, while not handsome, according to the ideals of artists, was frank, manly, bold—a brave, square jawed Anglo-Saxon face, with eyes of that steely gray that can become as tender as a mother’s and as fierce as a tiger’s. “Come in, Jack,” cried both of the old gentlemen together. “Glad to see you my boy,” added John Dunlap. “How did you find your good mother and the rest of our friends in Bedford? I only landed today; came from Port au Prince to see the Commons once more; heard that the ‘Lucy’ and her brave master, my namesake, had arrived a week ahead of me, safe and sound, from East Indian waters.” So saying he grasped both of the sailor’s hands and shook them with the genuine cordiality of a lad of sixteen. “Have you seen my granddaughter since your return, Captain Jack?” inquired James Dunlap, as he shook the young man’s hand.