At this moment the door at the rear end of the entry was opened, and an elderly man, considerably intoxicated, reeled towards the party. It was Captain Kingman, the proprietor of the island and of the dilapidated buildings; and the ruinous aspect of everything about the place was sufficiently explained by his present condition. Mary Kingman turned pale and turned red. She looked as though she would sink through the floor, and hide the shame of being the daughter of a drunkard. She had hoped he would not come home while her guests were present, and the exposure of the family grief would be avoided. “How d’ do, Mis’r Hung’ford,” said Captain Kingman, in very loud and bluff tones, as he staggered up to Eugene and extended his hand. “Very well; how do you do, Captain Kingman?” “Only to’rable; I git a little touch of rheumatiz now’n then; but I’m to’rable. ’S dinner ready, mother?” “Yes, and waitin’.” “Come, Mis’r Hung’ford, set down, and take a bite with us.” “I thank you, captain; I have a friend with me, and we intend to dine on the Ledge.” “Where’s the man? Tell him t’ come ’n take a bite with us.” “You must excuse me, Captain Kingman; but we shall be too late for the tide if we remain any longer.” “See here, Mis’r Hung’ford,” reeling up to Eugene, and steadying himself in a position directly before him, “they say you’re rich now. Your uncle’s dead and gone, ’n left you all ’s money. But look here, Mis’r Hung’ford; you mus’n’t come down here, put’n on airs. I knew your father, Mis’r Hung’ford; he was a smarter man ’n any of ’s chil’n. Will you take sum’n to drink, Mis’r Hung’ford?” “Nothing at present; I’m obliged to you. I must go now.” “Mr. Hung’ford, you go to----.” For some reason or other the inebriated man was determined to be angry. Eugene saw what was coming, for Captain Kingman, in his cups, was well known to be a quarrelsome man, and he beat a retreat. Dick Birch, who had stood like the statue of one of the martyrs on the knoll all this time, joined him, and they hastened down to the boat, which was soon standing down the river again. “Who’s this man?” demanded Captain Kingman, glancing at Mr. Buckstone. “Your most obedient servant,” replied the artist, with abundant good nature. “Captain Kingman, I’m happy to make your acquaintance;” and he stepped forward, with extended hand, which the drunken man grasped, with a tipsy grin on his face. “My name is Eliot Buckstone.” “Mis’r Bucks’on, I’m glad to see you. Won’t you take sum-thin?” “Thank you; I don’t care if I do,” replied the polite wooer. “You’re the man for me, Mis’r Bucks’on. Won’t you take a bite with us?” “Thank you; I had already accepted Mrs. Kingman’s invitation to dine.” “Well, come; the dinner’ll be cold,” suggested the lady of the house, nervously.