but I
have lived to see merit that could not blush, and the want of it that
could, while the latter has marched off with all the honours due to
the former. The blush that burned on my cheek, at that moment, would
have gone far to have condemned a criminal at the Old Bailey; but in
the countenance of a handsome young man was received as the unfailing
marks of "a pure ingenuous soul."

I had been too long at school to be ashamed of wearing laurels I had
never won; and, having often received a flogging which I did not
deserve, I thought myself equally well entitled to any advantages
which the chances of war might throw in my way; so having set my
tender conscience at rest, I sat myself down between my new mistress
and her father, and made a most delightful breakfast. Miss Somerville,
although declared out of danger by the doctor, was still languid, but
able to continue her journey; and as they had not many miles further
to go, Mr Somerville proposed a delay of an hour or two.

Breakfast ended, he quitted the room to arrange for their departure,
and I found myself _tete-a-tete_ with the young lady. During this
short absence, I found out that she was an only daughter, and that her
mother was dead; she again introduced the subject of my family name,
and I found also that before Mrs Somerville's death, my father had
been on terms of great intimacy with Emily's parents. I had not
replied to Mr Somerville's question. A similar one was now asked by
his daughter; and so closely was I interrogated by her coral lips and
searching blue eyes, that I could not tell a lie. It would have been a
horrid aggravation of guilt, so I honestly owned that I was the son of
her father's friend, Mr Mildmay.

"Good heaven!" said she, "why had you not told my father so?"

"Because I must have said a great deal more; besides," added I, making
her my confidante. "I am the midshipman whom Mr Somerville supposes to
be in the Mediterranean, and I ran away from my father's house last
night."

Although I was as concise as possible in my story, I had not finished
before Mr Somerville came in.

"Oh, papa," said his daughter, "this young gentleman is Frank Mildmay,
after all."

I gave her a reproachful glance for having betrayed my secret; her
father was astonished--she looked confused, and so did I.

Nothing now remained for me but an open and candid confession, taking
especial care, however, to conceal the part I had acted in throwing
the stone.