letter be from?--What a postage, too, to charge on a letter! Fifty cents!"

"That is a proof, sir, that Beaufort must be a long way off. Besides, the
letter is double. I think the hand-writing is Roswell's."

Had the niece fired a six-pounder under her uncle's ears, he would
scarcely have been more startled. He even turned pale, and instead of
breaking the wafer as he had been about to do, he actually shrunk from
performing the act, like one afraid to proceed.

"What can this mean?" said the deacon, taking a moment to recover his
voice. "Gar'ner's hand-writing! So it is, I declare. If that imprudent
young man has lost my schooner, I'll never forgive him in this world,
whatever a body may be _forced_ to do in the next!"

"It is not necessary to believe anything as bad as that, uncle. Letters
are often written at sea, and sent in by vessels that are met. I dare say
Roswell has done just this."

"Not he--not he--the careless fellow! He has lost that schooner, and all
my property is in the hands of wrackers, who are worse than so many rats
in a larder. 'Beaufort, N.C.' Yes, that must be one of the Bahamas, and
N.C. stands for New Providence--Ah's me! Ah's me!"

"But N.C. does _not_ stand for New Providence--it would be N.P. in that
case, uncle."

"N.C. or N.P., they sound so dreadfully alike, that I don't know what to
think! Take the letter and open it. Oh! how big it is--there must be a
protest, or some other costly thing inclosed."

Mary did take the letter, and she opened it, though with trembling hands.
The inclosure soon appeared, and the first glance of her eye told her it
was a letter addressed to herself.

"What is it, Mary?--What is it, my child? Do not be afraid to tell me,"
said the deacon, in a low faltering voice. "I hope I know how to meet
misfortunes with Christian fortitude. Has it one of them awful-looking
seals that Notary Publics use when they want money?"

Mary blushed rosy-red, and she appeared very charming at that moment,
though as resolute as ever to give her hand only to a youth whose 'God
should be her God.'

"It is a letter to me, sir--nothing else, I do assure you, uncle. Roswell
often writes to me, as you know; he has sent one of his letters inclosed
in this to you."

"Yes, yes--I'm glad it's no worse. Well, where was his letter written?
Does he mention the latitude and longitude? It will be some comfort to
learn that he was well to the southward and eastward."

Mary's colour dis