observed Mrs.
Lascelles demurely; 'wouldn't you, Cecilia?'

Cecilia put her handkerchief to her mouth.

'Tell the steward and the cook both to come aft immediately,' cried
Pickersgill.

In a few seconds they both made their appearance.

'Steward!' cried Pickersgill, with a loud voice.

'Yes, my lord,' replied Maddox, with his hat in his hand.

'What wines have you put out for dinner?'

'Champagne, my lord; and claret, my lord; and Madeira and sherry, my
lord.'

'No Burgundy, sir?'

[Illustration: _'Upon my soul, my lord,' cried Maddox, dropping on his
knees, 'there is no Burgundy on board--ask the ladies.'_]

'No, my lord; there is no Burgundy on board.'

'No Burgundy, sir! do you dare to tell me that?'

'Upon my soul, my lord,' cried Maddox, dropping on his knees, 'there is
no Burgundy on board--ask the ladies.'

'Very well, sir, you may go.'

'Cook, what have you got for dinner?'

'Sir, a haunch of mutt--of venison, my lord,' replied the cook, with his
white nightcap in his hand.

'What else, sirrah?'

'A boiled calf's head, my lord.'

'A boiled calf's head! Let it be roasted, or I'll roast you, sir!' cried
Pickersgill, in an angry tone.

'Yes, my lord; I'll roast it.'

'And what else, sir?'

'Maintenon cutlets, my lord.'

'Maintenon cutlets! I hate them--I won't have them, sir. Let them be
dressed _a l'ombre Chinoise_.'

'I don't know what that is, my lord.'

'I don't care for that, sirrah; if you don't find out by dinner-time,
you're food for fishes--that's all; you may go.'

The cook walked off wringing his hands and his nightcap as well--for he
still held it in his right hand--and disappeared down the fore-hatchway.

'I have done this to pay you a deserved compliment, ladies; you have
more courage than the other sex.'

'Recollect that we have had confidence given to us in consequence of
your pledging your word, my lord.'

'You do me, then, the honour of believing me?'

'I did not until I saw you,' replied Mrs. Lascelles; 'but now I am
convinced that you will perform your promise.'

'You do indeed encourage me, madam, to pursue what is right,' said
Pickersgill, bowing; 'for your approbation I should be most sorry to
lose, still more sorry to prove myself unworthy of it.'

As the reader will observe, everything was going on remarkably well.

CHAPTER VI

THE SMUGGLING YACHT

Cecilia returned to the cabin, to ascertain whether her aunt was more
composed; but Mrs.