"Never mind, Miss Emily," he answered, recovering himself again; "you are right. God will find some way, I doubt not. I only mean to say that if you ever need a friend, a real friend, you may count upon me and upon my mother. She owes you a son, you know, and I am sure she would gladly pay her debt in kindness to you." Dangerous promises, Richard, so far as you are concerned, in spite of Plato; and few men there be who dare assume to speak for a woman, a mother, to a possible daughter-in-law! His words were simple enough, but there was such intensity in the glance that accompanied them that the girl, innocent though she was, shrank from it,--not with fear, but from the old, old instinct of woman that suggests flight when fain to be pursued. "More of the ship went with the gale last night," she murmured, pointing; "see yonder. I think every gale that comes will be the last of her. Your boat is gone to pieces, too." "I count it well lost," he replied, softly, "for it has brought me to you." "You must not say that," she answered, gravely; "and I am forgetting my duty. Breakfast is nearly ready. I came to tell you. Will you come into the house?" It was not the first time that a maiden forgot her duty--even in trifles like this--in the presence of a man she was beginning to love, nor would it be the last. "Did you, then, do me the honor to seek me? I am delighted." "At the prospect of breakfast?" she asked, smiling at him merrily. "Of course. Did you ever see a sailor-man who wasn't?" "The only sailor-men I know are my grandfather and Captain Barry. Grandfather cares nothing about it, but I must say that Captain Barry----" "Does full justice to his rations, I doubt not. He looks like it. Well, I am only a lieutenant. I will follow the captain. May I help you up the hill?" She laughed lightly at him. "Why, Mr. Revere, I run up and down that hill a dozen times a day, and I should think, after your battering of last night, you would rather depend upon me. Come, let us go." They had gone but a few steps when an idea struck the lieutenant. He stopped, pressed his hand against his side, and gazed beseechingly at his companion. "Oh, what is it?" she cried; "your wound? You ought not to have come out. What shall we do?" "I am afraid," answered this mendacious deceiver; "I am sorry to trouble you, but I will have to be helped up the hill, after all. You see----" "Of course, of course. How thoughtless of me! I'll call Captain Barry at once." "Oh, no; that will be unnecessary. If you will give me your hand I think I can manage."