s towards the vessel. At a sign from the captain, the head of
the boat was veered round. The bereaved mother knew that all hope was
gone, and she fell down in a state of insensibility.

CHAPTER V

THE OLD MAID

One morning, shortly after the disasters which we have described, Mr.
Witherington descended to his breakfast-room somewhat earlier than
usual, and found his green morocco easy-chair already tenanted by no
less a personage than William the footman, who, with his feet on the
fender, was so attentively reading the newspaper that he did not hear
his master's entrance. 'By my ancestor, who fought on his stumps! but I
hope you are quite comfortable, Mr. William; nay, I beg I may not
disturb you, sir.'

William, although as impudent as most of his fraternity, was a little
taken aback: 'I beg your pardon, sir, but Mr. Jonathan had not time to
look over the paper.'

'Nor is it required that he should, that I know of, sir.'

'Mr. Jonathan says, sir, that it is always right to look over the
_deaths_, that news of that kind may not shock you.'

'Very considerate, indeed.'

'And there is a story there, sir, about a shipwreck.'

'A shipwreck! where, William? God bless me! where is it?'

'I am afraid it is the same ship you are so anxious about, sir--the----I
forget the name, sir.'

Mr. Witherington took the newspaper, and his eye soon caught the
paragraph in which the rescue of the two negroes and child from the
wreck of the _Circassian_ was fully detailed.

'It is indeed!' exclaimed Mr. Witherington. 'My poor Cecilia in an open
boat! one of the boats was seen to go down--perhaps she's dead--merciful
God! one boy saved. Mercy on me! where's Jonathan?'

[Illustration: _Found his green morocco easy-chair already tenanted by
William the footman._]

'Here, sir,' replied Jonathan, very solemnly, who had just brought in
the eggs, and now stood erect as a mute behind his master's chair, for
it was a case of danger, if not of death.

'I must go to Portsmouth immediately after breakfast--shan't eat,
though--appetite all gone.'

'People seldom do, sir, on these melancholy occasions,' replied
Jonathan. 'Will you take your own carriage, sir, or a mourning coach?'

'A mourning coach at fourteen miles an hour, with two pair of horses!
Jonathan, you're crazy.'

'Will you please to have black silk hatbands and gloves for the coachman
and servants who attend you, sir?'

'Confound your shop! no; this is a resur