,--perhaps she's dead--
merciful God! one boy saved. Mercy on me! where's Jonathan?"

"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 resurrection, not a death; it appears
that the negro thinks only one of the boats went down."

"_Mors omnia vincit_," quoth Jonathan, casting up his eyes.

"Never you mind that; mind your own business. That's the postman's
knock--see if there are any letters."

There were several; and amongst the others there was one from Captain
Maxwell, of the _Eurydice_, detailing the circumstances already known,
and informing Mr Witherington that he had despatched the two negroes
and the child to his address by that day's coach, and that one of the
officers, who was going to town by the same conveyance, would see them
safe to his house.

Captain Maxwell was an old acquaintance of Mr Witherington--had dined
at his house in company with the Templemores, and therefore had
extracted quite enough information from the negroes to know where to
direct them.

"By the blood of my ancestors! they'll be here to night," cried Mr
Witherington; "and I have saved my journey. What is to be done? better
tell Mary to get rooms ready: d'ye hear, William? beds for one little
boy and two niggers."

"Yes, sir," replied William; "but where are the black people to be put?"

"Put! I don't care; one may sleep with cook, the other with Mary."

"Very well, sir, I'll tell them," replied William, hastening away,
delighted at the row which he anticipated in the kitchen.

"If you please, sir," observed Jonathan, "one of the negroes is, I
believe, a man."

"Well, what then?"

"Only, sir, the maids may object to sleep with him."

"By all the plagues of the Witheringtons! this is true; well, you may
take him, Jonathan--you like that colour."

"Not in the dark, sir," replied Jonathan with a bow.

"Well, then, let