I quietly glided in at the side door, and gently opening the parlour door stood in the room before my parents. They both looked round as I made a slight sound; in a moment the quietude was broken. My mother half choked herself with the tea she was drinking, letting fall both cup and saucer on the dogs in her amazement, who scampered away, yelping at their sudden hot bath. "Mercy me! my boy!" and she fell sobbing in my arms, or rather on my left arm, for my father had taken possession of my right hand with, "Hang it all, Harry, do you mean to kill us all with fright? Why, my dear boy, I don't know what to say, I feel so glad to see you. However did you get home?" etc., etc. It was some minutes before their nerves were restored, and I had time to get a few words in edgeways between their greetings. They wanted me to answer a hundred questions, without even pausing to give me a chance to speak; but presently having satisfied them as to the chief points, I thought it high time to fetch in my companion, whom I introduced as "Mr. 'Monday' Ducas, Skipper of the 'Happy Return.'" They quickly made him welcome, taking him to be the Captain of the vessel I had come over in, but remarked aside, that both he and I would look better for a wash and a shave, while possibly a few inches off our hair would make us a little more in accord with the usual mode of dressing hair in these parts. Truly on peeping at ourselves in the glass we did look a couple of wild men or North American trappers. A tea was then prepared for us to which we did ample justice, but everything seemed so strange. We had not been used to chairs, carpets, window blinds, mutton chops, or even butter, but they soon came back to us as old friends, who had long been absent but not forgotten. We had a couple of bedrooms assigned to us, also a spare room, into which, on the morrow, I meant to convey our whole cargo; but at present I had neither mentioned our craft or its contents. These things I reserved as a surprise for my dad in the morning. After we had tidied ourselves I ventured to ask about Priscilla, upon which my father beckoned me to another room, which greatly upset me. Surely nothing was wrong with her; was she ill? My father noticed my agitation as I asked, "Father, is anything amiss with her? Don't tell me she is ill!" "No, no, my boy, calm yourself, she is well enough, but----" "Oh, go on, father, pray do! I can bear whatever you have to say about her except that she has been untrue to me. If she has, I will find the man who has stolen her affection, and----" "Peace! peace, my son! and listen to me quietly. I believe she is as true a girl as ever lived; but why did you not answer her letters? Twice she wrote to you, but not a line did she receive in reply." "Letters! I know nothing of any letters from her; all I have received was the solitary letter from you. But tell me what has happened? Why do you look so grave? Tell me, father, and end my suspense."