“I think I can see two ladies coming, or at any rate two figures moving, about a mile or more away, where the sands are shining in a gleam of sunlight. Yes, they are ladies. I know by their walk. Good-bye. I have a way up the cliff from here. You must not be surprised if you do not see me again. I may have to be off for France. I have business there, of which I should like to talk to you. You are so far above mean prejudice. If I go, I shall carry this precious volume with me. Farewell, my friend, if I may call you so.” “Do wait a minute,” cried the much admiring Frank; “or walk a few yards with me towards Springhaven. It would give me such pleasure to introduce you to my sisters. And I am sure they will be so glad to know you, when I tell them what I think. I very seldom get such a chance as this.” “There is no resisting that!” replied the graceful Carne; “I have not the honour of knowing a lady in England, except my aunt Mrs. Twemlow, and my cousin Eliza--both very good, but to the last degree insular.” “It is very hard to help being that, when people have never been out of an island. But I fear that I am taking you out of your way.” In a few minutes these two young men drew near to the two young women, whose manners were hard put to hide surprise. When their brother introduced Mr. Carne to them, Faith bowed rather stiffly, for she had formed without reason a dark and obstinate dislike to him. But the impetuous Dolly ran up and offered him both her hands, and said, “Why, Mr. Carne saved both our lives only a few days ago.” CHAPTER XXXVII NEITHER AT HOME Though Admiral Darling had not deigned to speak to his younger daughter about that vile anonymous charge, he was not always quite comfortable in his inner mind concerning it. More than once he thought of asking Faith's opinion, for he knew her good sense and discretion; but even this was repugnant to him, and might give her the idea that he cherished low suspicions. And then he was called from home again, being occupied among other things with a vain enquiry about the recent false alarm. For Carne and Charron had managed too well, and judged too correctly the character of Vickers, to afford any chance of discovery. So that, when the Admiral came home again, his calm and--in its fair state--gentle nature was ruffled by the prosperity of the wicked. “Oh, he is a fine judge of poetry, is he?” he said, more sarcastically than his wont; “that means, I suppose, that he admires yours, Frank. Remember what Nelson said about you. The longer I live, the more I find his views confirmed.” “Papa, you are too bad! You are come home cross!” cried Dolly, who always took Frank's part now. “What does my godfather know of poetry, indeed? If he ever had any ear for it, the guns would have ruined it long ago.”