"Why, I thought you were going to stay all night, Master Everard," answered Longly. "Never mind the lieutenant; we've plenty of room; we'll stow him away in the back room, where the hammock swings." "Not to-night, Master Longly," replied Everard; "I must go home to-night; but the day after to-morrow perhaps, I shall come and see you again;" and shaking hands with Hannah, with a slight pressure as he did so, just sufficient to make the colour mount a little higher in her cheeks, he left the room with a good-night to Longly and a bow to their new companion, somewhat stiff and stately indeed, and, finding his horse, was soon after seen riding away. "Who the devil is that?" demanded Lieutenant Hargrave. "He seems mighty stately. Is that Sir Francis Tyrrell's son that I have heard so much talk about?" "Oh, bless ye, no!" replied Longly. "Why, compared with young Tyrrell, that's but a sloop compared to a seventy-four. He's a wonderful nice young fellow though, that Everard Morrison. If it hadn't been for him, d--n me if I shouldn't have been in prison now, and, most likely, a bankrupt. He is young Everard Morrison, the lawyer's son, at Winsby." "A lawyer!" cried the young officer. "Oh, curse the young shark! I wonder you let him into your doors. Don't look so angry, pretty Miss Hannah. What! I suppose this lawyer's a lover of yours. Never mind that, we'll make him walk a plank, and I'll console you." "Come, come, no nonsense, Master Hargrave," rejoined Captain Long, seeing his daughter both vexed and angry at the young sailor's unceremonious familiarity. "That young Morrison is as fine a fellow as ever stepped, and brave though he's modest. Didn't I see him outface a dozen of the lawyers at least, and swear he would not have me wronged if there was law in the land. D--n me if it wasn't like a single ship fighting a whole fleet of the enemy. But he beat 'em all. And now, Mr. Hargrave, let's see what we can do to make you comfortable. Have you had any dinner?" Lieutenant Hargrave acknowledged that he had had none; and anything that Longly and his daughter chose to do to make him comfortable, he took with the greatest coolness, without ever seeming to feel that he might be giving trouble. All that could be obtained of any kind he appeared very willing to receive; asked without ceremony, and made use of without any great apparent thankfulness. In fact, there was a sort of habitual selfishness sufficiently apparent in his whole demeanour to have been remarked by probably any other person than Longly himself, and which, for the first half hour or so, struck Hannah Longly considerably.