Poor Lucy’s colour came and went; but she had not the courage to say a word. After a short pause, Reginald inquired, “Have any boats come up lately from New Orleans?” “Yes, sir, Henderson’s came up only a few days ago, and Henry Gregson, who had been down on some business for my father, returned in her.” “That is the young man who assists your father in the store? I believe he is a son of the mate on board The Pride. I have remarked that he is a very fine–looking young fellow!” “He is the son of Captain Ethelston’s mate,” said Jessie, casting down her eyes, and busying herself with some of her ribbons and silks. “But I hope,” continued she, “that you, Mr. Reginald, are not seriously hurt. Mr. Perrot told me you had been drowned and stabbed!” “Not quite so bad as that,” said Reginald, laughing; “I had, indeed, a swim in the Muskingum, and a blow from a horse’s hoof, but am none the worse for either. Do not forget, Miss Jessie, to send off a messenger immediately that any news arrive of The Pride. You know what a favourite she is, and how anxious we are here about her!” “Indeed I will not forget,” replied Jessie. Lucy sighed audibly; and after purchasing a few ribbons and shawls, as well as a stock of beads for her brother, she allowed Jessie to retire, begging, at the same time, her acceptance of one of the prettiest shawls in her basket. As the latter hesitated about receiving it, Lucy threw it over the girl’s shoulder, saying playfully, “Nay, Jessie, no refusal; I am mistress here; and nobody, not even Mr. Reginald, disputes my will in this room.” Jessie thanked the young lady, and saluting her brother, withdrew to a back parlour, where Monsieur Perrot had already prepared his good things, and where her father only waited her coming to commence a dinner which his drive had made desirable, and which his olfactory nerves told him was more savoury than the viands set before him at Marietta by Mrs. Christie. “Call ye this a squirrel ragoo?” said the worthy merchaunt; “weel now it’s an awfu’ thing to think how the Lord’s gifts are abused in the auld country! I hae seen dizens o’ they wee devils lilting and looping amaing the woods in the Lothians; and yet the hungry chaps wha can scarce earn a basin o’ porritch, or a pot o’ kail to their dinner, would as soon think o’ eatin’ a stoat or a foumart!”