repair to Tubbermore, let us lose no time in setting out;
and if we are to go, Mr. Kennyfeck, let as do so as becomes us."

Mr. Kennyfeck stifled a rising sigh--for he knew what the words
denoted--and departed; while Mrs. Kennyfeck, with her heart lightened
of a heavy load, rose to join her daughters, and discuss dress and
"toilette," the great commissariat of the approaching campaign.

CHAPTER XXIX. STORM AND WRECK.

Tut, never mind the swell, love,
The sails may sweep the brine;
But the craft will steer as well, love,
With your soft hand in mine.

The Cruise.

It was upon a delicious evening, a little before sunset, that a yacht
worked out of the harbor of Kingstown, all her canvas spread to catch
the light air of wind, which scarcely ruffled the glassy surface of the
Bay. The craft, with her snow-white sails, her tall and taper spars, her
gay bunting from gaff and peak, was all that the scene wanted to
render it a perfect picture; and so, to all seeming, thought the many
spectators who crowded the pier and the shore, and gazed with admiration
at the graceful vessel, as she glided silently above her own image in
the water.

Various were the comments and criticisms from those who surveyed her
course; some, in wondering conjecture whither she was bound; others, not
a whit better informed, boldly affecting some secret knowledge of her
destination, and even, by such pretty pretension, assuming airs of
superiority.

"She belongs to that rich young fellow, Roland Cashel," said one of
these, "who, by the way, is getting through his fortune tolerably fast.
The story goes, that he has spent two hundred thousand already, and is
borrowing at immense interest."

"Was n't he a smuggler, or a privateer's-man, or something of the kind?"

"No; he made all the money in the slave trade."

"I always heard that he succeeded to a landed estate," softly insinuated
a modest-looking old gentleman.

"Not at all, sir. Such, I am aware, was the common belief; the fact,
however, is, that he had invested large sums in land, and was then able
to escape the scrutiny many would have instituted regarding the origin
of his wealth."

"Who is it he is always riding with about town--a handsome girl, on a
brown horse?"

"On a gray, you mean."

"No, a brown, with a bang tail."

"No, no, it's a gray. She's a daughter of Tom Kennyfeck, the attorney."

"The gentleman is right," interposed a third. "I 've