Mrs. Shever came out quite nobly, and pledged Mr. Thompson's health in a glass of sherry, wishing him speedily "a good partner;" while Jerry, not to be outdone, toasted "The fair widow, and may she soon again be a happy wife." Of course there was no allusion to her little mistake, and the casual visitors who dropped in imagined it was "all right," and were a few days afterwards much astonished to hear that Mrs. Shever had changed her mind. The buxom widow did not fret about her failure, but went into society, and turned men's heads with such success that in a few weeks the "Portsmouth Times" had the following announcement in its list of marriages:-- "On the 23rd instant, at Mount Hope Chapel, by the Rev. Mr. Barryl, Amelia, widow of the late Mr. Henry Shever, formerly of H.M. Royal Navy, to Orlando Huffers, an eminent retired grocer of this place." Mr. Thompson walked down to his ship, pondering upon the vanity of all things, and of Mrs. Shever in particular; and as he turned in that night vowed he would shun the sex in future, as there was no one in the world like A-tae, and he was tired of the women. [Illustration: Decoration] CHAPTER XXVIII. According to Captain Tortle's instructions, about six o'clock on Monday morning the Stinger's warps were cast off, and she slowly left the wharf at Portsmouth, and steamed out of the harbour upon her way to Woolwich. Early as was the hour, a number of people witnessed her departure; a few of the more persevering ones taking a waterman's boat and following in her wake across the harbour; as if imagining some unlucky sailor might fall overboard and be picked up by them, when they would have an opportunity of selling him a suit of clothes. Those gentry were loud in their denunciation of the Admiralty's decision, considering that as the Stinger fitted out at Woolwich, and their brothers had the glorious opportunity of swindling the crew upon that occasion, it would only be common justice for her to pay off at Portsmouth; and they looked at the retreating ship, and clawed their beards with rage, their feelings, no doubt, very much resembling those of an ardent angler, who, after having played with a fine trout for some time, sees his anticipated victim quietly wag its tail, and make the best of its way into deep water. "Now, vot ish de use of us going to de expensh ov dish poat?" grumbled an unhappy-visaged young fellow, who sported a dog's-eared-looking suit of clothes, and smelt villainously of bad tobacco. "Vot ish de use of all dish foolishness?" "Ma friend!" exclaimed a venerable old man, who was holding on to the seat, and apparently saying his "prayers at sea in a time of danger,"--"Ma friend, dish is a put op schob of Peter's, who sent us out here vile he starts for Voolvich--_ve_ pay and he gets de penefit--so I votes ve leave _him_ to settle vith de vaterman."