“Yes, I will speak: It is safer that you know the worst, than that your innocence should be liable to be abused. I distrust the character of this ship, and of all that belong to her.” “All!” repeated her pupil, gazing fearfully, and a little wildly, around. “Yes; of all” “There may be wicked and evil-intentioned men n his Majesty’s fleet; but we are surely safe from them, since fear of punishment, if not fear of disgrace will be our protector.” “I dread lest we find that the lawless spirits, who harbour here, submit to no laws except those of their own enacting, nor acknowledge any authority but that which exists among themselves.” “This would make them pirates!” “And pirates, I fear, we shall find them.” “Pirates? What! all?” “Even all. Where one is guilty of such a crime, it is clear that the associates cannot be free from suspicion.” “But, dear Madam, we know that one among them, at least, is innocent; since he came with ourselves and under circumstances that will not admit of deception.” “I know not. There are different degrees of turpitude, as there are different tempers to commit it! I fear that all who may lay claim to be honest, in this vessel, are here assembled.” The eyes of Gertrude sunk to the floor, and her lips quivered, partly in a tremour she could not control and perhaps in part through an emotion that she found inexplicable to herself. “Since we know whence our late companion came,” she said, in an under tone, “I think you do him wrong, however right your suspicions may prove as to the rest.” “I may be wrong as to him, but it is important that we know the worst. Command yourself, my love; our attendant ascends; some knowledge of the truth may be gained from him.” Mrs Wyllys gave her pupil an expressive sign to compose her features, while she herself resumed her usual, pensive air, with a calmness of mien that might have deceived one far more practised than the boy, who now came slowly into the cabin. Gertrude buried her face in a part of her attire, while the former addressed the individual who had just entered in a tone equally divided between kindness and concern. “Roderick, child,” she commenced, “your eyelids are getting heavy. This service of a ship must be new to you?” “It is so old as to keep me from sleeping on my watch,” coldly returned the boy. “A careful mother would be better for one of your years, than the school of the boatswain. What is your age, Roderick?” “I have seen years enough to be both wiser and better,” he answered, not without a shade of thought settling on his brow. “Another month will make me twenty.” “Twenty! you trifle with my curiosity, urchin.” “Did I say twenty, Madam! Fifteen would be nearer to the truth.” “I believe you well. And how many of those years have you passed upon the water?” “But two, in truth; though I often think them ten; and yet there are times when they seem but a day!” “You are romantic early, boy. And how like you the trade of war?” “War!”