"I shall never act without attending to your advice, and consulting your wishes, my dear father," answered Susan, the suffusion of her unusually pale cheeks proving that she required but colour to be perfectly beautiful. And here the conversation dropped. Old Hornblow had long perceived the growing attachment between his daughter and McElvina; and the faithful and valuable services of the latter, added to the high opinion which the old man had of his honesty--which, to do McElvina justice, had been most scrupulous--had determined him to let things take their own course. Indeed, there was no one with whom old Hornblow was acquainted to whom he would have entrusted his daughter's happiness with so much confidence as to our reformed captain. A sharp double tap at the street door announced the post, and in a few minutes after this conversation the clerk appeared with a letter for old Hornblow, who, pursuant to the prudent custom of those days, had his counting-house on the ground floor of his own residence, which enabled him to go to his dinner, and return to his business in the evening. Nowadays we are all above our business, and live above our means (which is in itself sufficient to account for the general distress that is complained of); and the counting-house is deserted before dusk, that we may arrive at our residences in Russell-square, or the Regent's-park, in time to dress for a turtle dinner at six o'clock, instead of a mutton chop, or single joint, _en famille_, at two. But to return. Old Hornblow put on his spectacles (which were on the table since they had been removed from his nose by Susan when she kissed him), and examined the post-mark, seal, and superscription, as if he wished to tax his ingenuity with a guess previously to opening the letter, which would have saved him all that trouble, and have decided the point of scrutiny--viz., from whom it came? "McElvina, I rather think," said he, musing; "but the postmark is Plymouth. How the deuce--!" The two first lines of the letter were read, and the old man's countenance fell. Susan, who had been all alive at the mention of McElvina's name, perceived the alteration in her father's looks. "No bad news, I hope, my dear father?" "Bad enough," replied the old man, with a deep sigh; "the lugger is taken by a frigate, and sent into Plymouth." "And Captain McElvina--he's not hurt, I hope?" "No, I presume not, as he has written the letter, and says nothing about it."