ARRIED--SUMMONED SOUTHWARD.

I did not think that I should ever have got tired of living at Southsea
with my kind aunt and fine hearty old uncle, but I had been so
accustomed to a roving life and active employment, that in a little time
I began to consider that I ought to be looking out for something to do.
What to do was the question. I had a fancy for staying on shore after
having been knocked about at sea for so many years, and setting up in
some business.

"What, have you forgotten Margaret Troall?" said my aunt to me one day.

The chord was struck. "No, indeed, I have not," said I; "I'll go and
find her, and bring her back to you as my wife if she will have me."

I had given all my money to my uncle to have put safe in a bank for me.
The next day I drew thirty pounds of it, and shipped myself aboard a
smack bound for Plymouth.

Strange as it may seem, all the time I had been on shore I had never
once thought of my oath and its consequence, but scarcely had I got to
sea than the recollection of it came back, and I fully expected that
some accident would happen to me before I reached my destination. It
did not, however. I landed in safety, and walked immediately up to the
house where I hoped to find the old lady and her niece. How strange it
seemed! I never felt in such a way before in my life. A child might
have knocked me down. I got to the house. How well I knew it! I
looked in, as I had done before, at the parlour window. I fully
expected to see the old lady sitting in her arm-chair and knitting, as I
had when I was last there. My heart jumped up right into my throat, and
then down it went I don't know where. There was no old lady there; but
there were three little children, fat, chubby, merry things, tumbling
about head over heels on the floor, and shouting and shrieking with
laughter, while a young woman sat on a low chair knitting and
encouraging them in their gambols, while she rocked a cradle with her
foot. "All sorts of strange thoughts came into my head. Who can she
be, I wonder? Can it be?" I said. I looked at her very hard, but the
glass was thick and dirty, and I could not make out her features. With
a trembling hand I knocked at the door. A servant girl, after a little
delay, opened it.

"Does Mrs Sandon live here?" I asked.

"No, she doesn't," was the short answer.

"Can you tell me where she lives?" I said.

"No; she does not live anywhere, she's dead," said the girl,