"Well, I did not think of it in that way," said Miss Acton, who was active again with her needle and talking at her work. "Of course we must have captains for our men-of-war. I hope there is no fresh news of invasion." "Nothing more since the privateersman was run in," said Captain Acton. "Oh, aunt, whilst I think of it," cried Lucy, "poor Mr Eagle, the mate of the _Minorca_, is suffering badly from rheumatism in his ankles. He can hardly stand. I told him that I would ask you to send him something to ease him." "I am sure I do not know what is good for rheumatism," said Miss Acton, with the petulance that attends a sudden anxiety of benevolence. "It is a most troublesome disease. You may rub and rub, and you only make it fly to another place, and often rubbing takes the skin off. I will send him some sulphur to put in his stockings, and I will see what else there is to be done for the poor man." And here, looking over her glasses again at Mr Lawrence, she said: "Pray, can you tell me how Mrs Bigg is, sir?" "Mrs Bigg, ma'am! I never heard of her." "She lives at Uphill Cottage, and lay in of a very fine baby a fortnight yesterday, and has done very poorly since. You cannot tell me how she does?" "I cannot, madam." At this moment the door was opened and the butler entered with a large sparkling silver tray of refreshments--wines and spirits, and cakes of several kinds. But Mr Lawrence would take nothing. He had done very well, he said. He had supped handsomely with his father off a round of cold boiled beef. The hospitality of the tray was not pressed upon him; Miss Lucy took some wine and water, and a small draught of cordial waters was placed beside Miss Acton. "Your father was telling me a few days ago," said Captain Acton, "of a narrow escape of yours, sir." "I have met with several. To which did he refer?" "To that of the punt in which you attempted to sail from Plymouth to Falmouth." Mr Lawrence smiled. When his smile was dictated by some honest or candid emotion, free from irritation or contempt, or any of the passions which make merriment forced and alarming, the expression gave a particular pleasure to the beholder. It was full of heart, and seemed to lighten his beauty of much of its burden of wear and tear. "What was the story, sir?" asked Lucy. "A story of foolhardiness, madam, largely due to my difficulty in foreseeing issues." The remark appeared to impress Captain Acton, who fastened his eyes upon the speaker.