“Pardon, my lord,” said the captain to his visitor, “but I thought that here was a case--speaking of miracles--you would be interested in. Our friends here”--he indicated myself particularly with a gracious gesture--“are not, as you know, dropped from heaven, but come from that unfortunate ship we saw go under a while ago. May I ask your lordship to tell us--you will see the joke in a moment--whom we were talking of at the moment our watch first announced the sight of that vessel?” His lordship rubbed his chin and smilingly peered at the captain. “Gad!” he said. “You are the deuce and all, Thurot. What are you in the mood for now? Why, we talked of Greig--Andrew Greig, the best player of _passe-passe_ and the cheerfullest loser that ever cut a pack.” Thurot turned to me, triumphant. “Behold,” said he, “how ridiculously small the world is. _Ma foi!_ I wonder how I manage so well to elude my creditors, even when I sail the high seas. Lord Clancarty, permit me to have the distinguished honour to introduce another Greig, who I hope has many more of his charming uncle's qualities than his handsome eyes and red shoes. I assume it is a nephew, because poor Monsieur Andrew was not of the marrying kind. Anyhow, 'tis a Greig of the blood, or Antoine Thurot is a bat! And--Monsieur Greig, it is my felicity to bid you know one of your uncle's best friends and heartiest admirers--Lord Clancarty.” “Lord Clancarty!” I cried, incredulous. “Why he figured in my uncle's log-book a dozen years ago.” “A dozen, no less!” cried his lordship, with a grimace. “We need not be so particular about the period. I trust he set me down there a decently good companion; I could hardly hope to figure in a faithful scribe's tablets as an example otherwise,” said his lordship, laughing and taking me cordially by the hand. “Gad! one has but to look at you to see Andrew Greig in every line. I loved your uncle, lad. He had a rugged, manly nature, and just sufficient folly, bravado, and sinfulness to keep a poor Irishman in countenance. Thurot, one must apologise for taking from your very lips the suggestion I see hesitating there, but sure 'tis an Occasion this; it must be a bottle--the best bottle on your adorable but somewhat ill-found vessel. Why 'tis Andy Greig come young again. Poor Andy! I heard of his death no later than a month ago, and have ordered a score of masses for him--which by the way are still unpaid for to good Father Hamilton. I could not sleep happily of an evening--of a forenoon rather--if I thought of our Andy suffering aught that a few candles and such-like could modify.” And his lordship with great condescension tapped and passed me his jewelled box of maccabaw.