Just as he had made up his mind to this purpose, the surgeon’s report was handed to him. He was prepared for a great loss as to the number of his crew, but not for so large a sacrifice as he now saw had been made; he looked into the matter personally and was exercised with not a little fear for his own reputation in being thus severely handled by an half-dozen men, commanded by a female. His feelings were still more harrowed by the examination that he then made into the state of the vessel under his charge. As he passed among the wounded men, and heard their sighs and groans, his feelings were moved, and his mind excited beyond what he had experienced at any time, during, or since the commencement of the fight with the Constance. Burnet was somewhat nervous and excitable in his disposition, and he was now completely under the control of these influences. He scanned the horizon in the direction whence the prize was expected, and which should long since have made her appearance--but in vain; she was not to be seen, and though he felt somewhat uneasy about her, yet it never entered into his head that she might be retaken, the principal ground of his fears on the point, was, that he might possibly miss her in the night, and that if she should, unconscious of her danger, anchor in the harbor of Boston, why, she must inevitably fall again into the hands of the Colonists, and he would not have even a stick of timber to show for the fearful number of men he had lost in the late contest with the prize. He did not dare to keep his present anchorage, for it was already evident that he was noticed, and a boat attack might be expected from the shore during the night, if he should attempt to wait for the arrival of his prize. He saw with his glass that preparations were already making for such a purpose, and he therefore resolved, as we have said, to sail, and if possible to meet the Constance, or perhaps lie-to off the harbor at a safe distance, until morning. Everything seemed to perplex and annoy him, and he was, indeed, hardly himself. The night was dark, and settled coldly about the Dolphin. The lamp had been lit by a servant, in the cabin, and Fanny sat perusing a book that she had found upon the table, when Burnet entered. He looked like another being from him who had left her but a short time before. His disappointment at finding the city in the hands of the Colonists, his own prize not arriving, the surgeon’s report of the weak and disabled state of the crew, the disappointment of his affections, had all tended to bring on a morose and hardened state of feelings that showed, themselves at once in his countenance and manner. ‘Fanny,’ he said, approaching her familiarly, ‘I cannot part with you without some token of your kindness.’ ‘Mr. Burnet,’ said Fanny, gazing upon him with astonishment. ‘Come, sit thee here,’ said he, drawing her familiarly towards a couch placed on one side of the cabin.