There is but one end to such debate, when the idol is under the same roof with the worshipper. He put the question from him for the present, and only resolved that, at least, he might love all belonging to her, for her sake. All, even to the very flowers she gathered and the floor she trod. He took up the work she had set aside, and pressed it passionately to his lips, his heart, his eyes. The door opened, and he dropped it, scared, startled, guilty, like a man detected in a crime. It was a disappointment, yet he felt it a relief, to find that the intruder was not Cerise. He had scarcely yet learned to call her Lady Hamilton. There was no disappointment, however, in the new-comer’s face, as he stood for a moment with the door in his hand, looking at Florian with a quaint comical smile, in which respect for Sir George’s guest was strangely mingled with a sailor’s hearty welcome to his shipmate. The latter sentiment soon predominated, and Slap-Jack, hurrying forward with a scrape of his foot and a profusion of sea-bows, seized the visitor by both hands, called him “my hearty!” several times over; and, finally, relapsing with considerable effort into the staid and confidential servant of the family, offered him, in his master’s absence, liquid refreshment on the spot. “It’s a fair wind, whichever way it blowed, as brought _you_ here,” exclaimed the late foretopman, when the energy of his greeting had somewhat subsided; “and so the skipper, I mean Sir George, will swear, when he knows his first lieutenant’s turned up in this here anchorage, and my lady too, askin’ your reverence’s pardon once more, being that I’m not quite so sure as I ought to be of your honour’s rating.” Slap-Jack was becoming a little confused, remembering the part played by Beaudésir on the last occasion of their meeting. “Sir George does not expect me,” answered Florian, returning the seaman’s greeting with cordial warmth; “but unless he is very much altered, I think his welcome will be no less hearty than your own.”