“Not one; there's a mass of letters, with invitations and civil messages, there on the table, but no proffered visits among them.” Lionel walked to the table and turned over the various notes which lay along with newspapers and pamphlets scattered about. “Ay,” muttered the Knight, in a low tone, “they read strangely now, these plans of pleasure and festivity, when ruin is so near us; the kind pressings to spend a week here, and a fortnight there. It reminds me, Lionel,”--and here a smile of sad but sweet melancholy passed across his features,--“it reminds me of the old story they tell of my grand-uncle Robert. He commanded the 'Dreadnought,' under Drake, at Cape St. Vincent, and at the close of a very sharp action was signalled to come on board the admiral's vessel to dinner. The poor 'Dreadnought' was like a sieve, the sea running in and out through her shot-holes, and her sails hanging like rags around her, her deck covered with wounded, and slippery with gore. Captain Darcy, however, hastened to obey the command of his superior, changed his dress and ordered his boat to be manned; but this was no easy matter, there was scarcely a boat's crew to be had without taking away the men necessary to work the ship. The difficulty soon became more pressing, for a plank had suddenly sprung from a double-headed shot, and all the efforts of the pumps could not keep the vessel afloat, with a heavy sea rolling at the same time. “'The admiral's signal is repeated, sir,' said the lieutenant on duty. “'Very well, Mr. Hay; keep her before the wind,' was the answer. “'The ship is settling fast, sir,' said the master; 'no boat could live in that sea; they 're all damaged by shot.' “'Signal the flag-ship,' cried out Darcy; 'signal the admiral that I am ready to obey him, but we 're sinking.' “The bunting floated at the mast-head for a moment or two, but the waves were soon many fathoms over it, and the 'Dreadnought' was never seen more.” “So it would seem,” said Lionel, with a half-bitter laugh, “we are not the first of the family who went down head foremost. But I hear a voice without. Surely old Tate is not fool enough to admit any one.” “Is it possible--” But before the Knight could finish, the old butler entered to announce Mr. Hickman O'Reilly. Advancing towards the Knight with a most cordial air, he seemed bent on anticipating any possible expression of displeasure at his unexpected appearance. “I am aware, Knight,” said he, in an accent the most soft and conciliating, “how indelicate a visit from me at such a moment may seem; but if you accord me a few moments of private interview, I hope to dispel the unpleasant impression.” He looked towards Lionel as he spoke, and though he smiled his blandest of all smiles, evidently hinted at the possibility of his leaving them alone together. “I have no confidences apart from my son, sir,” said Darcy, coldly.