“Then—then you are not to be pitied. In life or in death you are his. You are bound together by the ties of love and of duty, of religion and of law! He will return to you, my girl. See, the boats are getting nearer every moment: they will beat the storm—you will be reunited. You need not weep.” He darted away among the rocks, and sought the little room in the single ale-house, which had been his home for the last month. His first impulse was to return to Belhanger—to revisit the spot which breathed of her, and having once more beheld the precious child which she had left there as a pledge of her affection for him, to send her with the nurse to rejoin her mother at Captain Wareham’s. His resolution was no sooner taken than it was executed. Ellen and her brother had ere this arrived at the end of their journey. They reached Captain Wareham’s just as he, Matilda, and the Allenhams, who were at this moment paying him their annual visit, were seated at their dessert. They were surprised at hearing an unusual bustle in the house, and still more so when Ellen, leaning on her brother, entered the apartment. They all pressed round to greet her. Matilda, with youthful delight at this agreeable surprise, Caroline and her husband with kindness, Captain Wareham with some kindness but more annoyance, which annoyance was, however, in some degree tempered by the respect he had felt for Ellen, ever since she had made so good a marriage as he considered that to Mr. Hamilton. “Well, my dear Ellen, this is really very good of you to take us so by surprise, but you certainly do take us by surprise. I do not know how in the world we are to lodge you, and the dinner is just gone. And you too, Henry?” (annoyance was rapidly preponderating) “I do not know what we can do with you. And I suppose Hamilton is of the party; you might have given one a line. I should have thought, Ellen, you must have remembered how inconvenient this kind of thing is in a small establishment.” By this time Ellen had sunk in a chair, and Caroline began to be alarmed at her paleness, and at the altered expression of her countenance. The children had just landed from their vehicle, and their voices were heard in the passage. “Mercy on us! and the children, too!” exclaimed poor Captain Wareham, in a tone of despair, annoyance having thoroughly mastered the vague respect inspired by the superior style of all which surrounded the Hamiltons. “Well, this certainly is rather inconsiderate, Ellen; but when people make great matches they grow fine, and you seem quite to forget your poor old father’s means are not quite so ample as Mr. Hamilton’s.” He turned round, but started at the ghastly appearance of Ellen. Henry had suffered agonies for his sister, and had tried to lead his father aside, that he might briefly explain to him the case, without proclaiming it to the whole household. Ellen answered with the composure of despair.