"Oh! papa, this is almost too much for me," she exclaimed, as Captain Everard returned her embrace. In a few words he told her what had occurred. "But the loss of Stanmore is a severe blow," he observed. "Oh! for me it is nothing," answered Mabel; "I feel for you, though that cannot take away your position as a post-captain." "No, indeed," answered the captain, "it is a position a man may well be proud of." "And as for the fortune, my little god-daughter must not be without something," observed Mr. Thornborough. "Here, Barbara, give her that paper. A present is better than a bequest, and I have had the amount transferred to her name in the funds." Mabel's eyes were too full of tears to distinguish clearly what was written on the paper, though she could make out the sum of 10,000 pounds. She was springing forward to thank her godfather, when another carriage drove up to the door. Again the drawing-room door opened, and two gentlemen entered. This time Mabel did not spring into the arms of either of them, but she stood for an instant motionless till the youngest advanced towards her. Then unconsciously forgetting that any one else was present, she lifted up her arms and let them fall on the young man's shoulders. "What! Andrew Brown, the brave seaman who saved my life?" exclaimed Captain Everard. "But can it be? I wonder that all that time I did not recognise my young friend Harry Tryon." CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. THE WRECK OF THE LUGGER, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. For upwards of a week Roger Kyffin had been absent from Idol Lane, during which time he had never left his house at Hampstead. The doctor, however, paid frequent visits, sometimes thrice a day; once he remained during the greater part of the night. The Misses Coppinger also frequently drove over, and on one occasion Mr. Coppinger himself rode all the way to Hampstead to inquire for Mr. Kyffin's sick friend, for Mr. Kyffin himself was in perfect health; indeed, he had never had an hour's illness since he was a boy. No mother could have attended a child with more care and solicitude than did Roger Kyffin his guest. That guest was Harry Tryon. The day after his release from the prison ship he was seized with illness--his tongue was parched, his limbs ached, he was unable to raise his head from his pillow. The doctor thought that he was suffering, it might be, from the jail fever. Harry's nerves had also been severely tried. What with the fatigue and anxiety he had gone through, the feeling of shame and remorse for his folly had at length completely overcome him. For several days he appeared to be hovering between life and death.