She ran to the side of what may be called the litter, and looked down upon the face that rested upon a bolster. She clasped her hands. She compressed her lips. No exclamation escaped her, but one saw in her beautiful face the expression of that deep pity which is ever the attendant of love where sorrow is or suffering. Mr Lawrence's eyes were open. They looked straight up at her; tormented as he was, his pain had no influence over the composition of his feelings. It was a stare rather than a gaze: and in that stare was profound astonishment at the sight of her, likewise amazement at the sanity of a face, which, when he had last seen it, was deformed, as he had believed, by the madness his behaviour had wrought in her; but before all, and stealing into and illuminating the complicated emotions conveyed by his eyes, was the love which had ever beamed in them when he turned them upon her, a light not to be lessened or obscured by any conflict of passion. The Admiral, Mr Fellowes, and the surgeon had come on board when the litter was being lowered, and stood in momentary pause beside it, whilst men were summoned to convey the wounded man to his father's cabin. Lucy swept round to the Admiral, and with her hands still clasped, cried to him softly: "Oh, Sir William, it is your son--I could not imagine--is he dying--will he die?" The surgeon who stood close, and who had been gazing at the young lady with admiration of her face and charms of figure and wonder at finding so beautiful a girl in a little schooner at sea, exclaimed: "I am surgeon of yonder frigate, madam. This gentleman will not die, provided he is carefully and judiciously nursed." "I will nurse him," cried Lucy. A faint smile lighted up the features of Mr Lawrence, who slightly moved his head to cast his eyes upon her. "Oh, madam, my dearest madam," exclaimed the Admiral in a voice broken with feeling, "how am I to thank you? What words do your angelic goodness leave me for the conveyance of my gratitude?" "You will tell me, sir," said Lucy, addressing the surgeon, "what I am to do, and I will do it. Where is he wounded?" "Near the heart. He shot himself!" said the Admiral. Some men were now arrived. They picked up the litter with careful hands, and in a sort of procession Mr Lawrence was conveyed into the deck-house, Lucy walking beside him, whilst behind stepped the Admiral, Mr Fellowes, and the _Phoebe's_ surgeon. Once only did Lucy speak in that solemn march from the quarterdeck into the little interior. She looked back and asked: "Where is my father?" "He is remaining on board the _Minorca_ to see after affairs there, madam," answered the Admiral. "I believe Captain Weaver is to take charge of the barque, and Captain Acton will himself sail the schooner home." The litter was carried into the Admiral's cabin, and Lucy and the surgeon followed. * * * * * * * *