In this strain we continued to talk for some time. My father better understood than I did that my very life might depend upon my going a voyage, and spending many months among the climates of the ocean. All the doctors he had consulted about me were agreed in this, and the last and the most eminent, whose opinion we had taken, had advised it with such gravity and emphasis as determined him upon making at once the best arrangements practicable, seeing that he was unable to accompany me for several reasons; one, and a sufficient, being his dislike of the sea when on it. Our long talk ended in his proposing to return with Captain Burke to London to view the 'Lady Emma,' which was lying in the East India Docks, and my old nurse consented to stop with me until he returned, so that we could chat about the voyage and think over the many little things which might be necessary to render my trip as happy and comfortable as foresight could contrive. The one drawback that kept my father hesitating throughout this meeting with Captain Burke and his wife was this: the 'Lady Emma' would not carry a surgeon. But that question, they decided, would be left until he had seen the ship, and satisfied himself that she would make me such a sea-home as he could with an easy heart send me away in. CHAPTER II MARIE'S SWEETHEART My father went to London next day with Captain Burke. I denied myself to callers, and until my father came back remained alone with my old nurse, once or twice taking a ramble along the seashore when the sun shone; but my health was bad, and I had as little taste for walking as for company. I suffered from a sort of spiritlessness and a dull indifference to things. My health was the cause of my low-heartedness: but there were many reasons now why I should feel wretched. It was not the merely leaving my father and my home for a twelvemonth and longer, to wander about the ocean in a ship in search of colour for my cheeks and light for my eyes and strength for my voice; but for my health I should have been married in the previous October; and now my marriage must be put off till the sea had made me strong, and I was to be sundered from the man I loved for months and months. My betrothal had happened whilst my old nurse Burke was away; it was therefore news to her, and she listened to all about it with eager, affectionate attention. I told her that my sweetheart was Mr. Archibald Moore, the son of a private banker in the City of London. I had met him at a ball in the neighbourhood, and within a month of that we were engaged. He was the sweetest, dearest, handsomest--I found I did not want words when it came to my praising him and speaking of my love. She said: 'Does he often come to see you, Miss Marie?' 'Often. Every week. He is occupied with his father in the bank, and can only spare from Saturday to Monday.' 'Will he be here next Saturday?' 'I hope so.'