away and
paying a visit to her old acquaintances at the Hall. She did so. As I
afterwards found out from what I overheard, she had a very great
aversion to the noble captain: but the cause of her aversion was never
communicated to me. Soon after the sailing of the Calliope, she again
made her appearance, took her old seat in the easy-chair, and resumed
her eternal knitting as before.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Another year of my existence passed rapidly away; I was nearly thirteen
years old, a sturdy bold boy, well fitted for the naval profession,
which I now considered decided upon, and began to be impatient to leave
school, and wondered that we heard nothing of Captain Delmar, when news
was received from another quarter.

One morning Captain Bridgeman came much earlier than usual, and with a
very grave face put on especially for the occasion. I had not set off
for school, and ran up to him; but he checked me, and said, "I must see
your mother directly, I have very important news for her."

I went in to tell my mother, who requested Captain Bridgeman to come
into the parlour, and not being aware of the nature of the
communication, ordered Aunt Milly and me into the shop; we waited for
some minutes, and then Captain Bridgeman made his appearance.

"What is the matter?" said Milly.

"Read this newspaper," said he; "there is a despatch from India, it will
tell you all about it, and you can show it to your sister, when she is
more composed."

Curious to know what the matter could be, I quitted the shop, and went
into the parlour, where I saw my mother with her face buried in the sofa
pillow, and apparently in great distress.

"What's the matter, mother?" said I.

"Oh! my child, my child!" replied my mother, wringing her hands, "you
are an orphan, and I am a lonely widow."

"How's that?" said I.

"How's that?" said my grandmother, "why, are you such a fool, as not to
understand that your father is dead?"

"Father's dead, is he?" replied I, "I'll go and tell Aunt Milly;" and
away I went out of the parlour to Milly, whom I found reading the
newspaper.

"Aunt," said I, "father's dead, only to think! I wonder how he died!"

"He was killed in action, dear," said my aunt; "look here, here is the
account, and the list of killed and wounded. D'ye see your father's
name--Benjamin Keene, marine?"

"Let me read all about it, Aunt Milly," replied I, taking the paper from
her; and I was soon very busy with the accou