“If I have made a mistake, Captain Dickens, you ought to make the _amende honorable_ for me, for you spoke so indistinctly that I misunderstood you.” “I shall be happy to make the only reparation in my power, by re-introducing you clearly and distinctly to Miss Martin.” Yes, Miss Martin—our old, and we hope not uninteresting friend, Jessie Martin; and the scene of the introduction was the quarter-deck of the _Lady Flora_. At eight o’clock, the band struck up “God save the King,” and the party separated for the night—the ladies retiring to their cabins, and the gentlemen adjourning to the cuddy, to discuss their grog. For several successive nights, however, by some strange coincidence, Morton always happened to be just making his appearance at the top of the companion ladder, as Miss Martin was emerging from the cuddy-door, to take her evening promenade. Of course, common politeness required that he should offer his arm to support her, because the ship had a good deal of motion, or because, if there were none just then, there might be by and by. Jessie was much pleased with her new acquaintance, when the first embarrassment of his manner wore off. This she attributed to that kind of _mauvaise honte_ which a man acquires from a life of seclusion, or from a limited intercourse with society. Perfectly free from personal vanity, she had not the most remote idea that it had any connection with her own attractions; but she soon had cause to alter her opinion. She was surprised at his varied and extensive store of knowledge, and delighted with his lively and animated manner of imparting it. He had evidently mixed a great deal in society, and his conversation abounded in amusing and interesting anecdotes of celebrated characters whom it had been his good fortune to have associated with. There was something particularly gratifying to a mind like Jessie’s, in being selected as the friend of one who appeared in every way so estimable; and his silent, yet constant and brother-like attention to her comfort and wishes, excited her feelings of grateful regard. Thus they went on for some time together, he becoming day after day more and more deeply enamoured, and she unconsciously increasing his love for her, by the frank and natural confidence of her manner towards him. At last, a hint from Mrs Jameson, the lady under whose charge she had been placed, opened her eyes to the danger and impropriety of so close an intimacy with one who, she felt, was daily making rapid advances in her good opinion, and whose increasing admiration of her was beginning to be but too evident. She called to mind, what she blamed herself for having so long kept out of view—her delicate position as the affianced bride of another, and saw, in its true colours, the double treachery she would be guilty of in further encouraging, or rather in not repelling, the attentions of a new admirer. It was doing great violence to her feelings gradually to withdraw from her companionship with