she felt utterly alone in the world. Still, though the news of the
_Falcon's_ loss was confirmed beyond all doubt, and the widows and
children of her officers and crew entitled to pensions had received them
she heard, she herself would not abandon all hope of seeing Ralph. Had
she not prayed to God that he might be preserved from all dangers with
the truest faith? and oh, how earnestly! though, as in duty bound, she
had added, "Thy will be done." She even now tried from her heart to
repeat those words and to bow meekly to the will of her Heavenly Father.
"He knows what is best, and does all for the best, as granny used to
tell me, and as the kind vicar often says," she repeated to herself; "I
am sure of that, though I cannot see it in this case, but that arises
from my blindness and little faith."

CHAPTER NINE.

Kind Mrs Judson had gone to her own house. Jessie was seated at her
work near the window for the sake of the light on an evening in the
spring of the year, when she saw a man in a sailor's dress pass the
garden gate, then stop and make inquiries of a passer by. Presently he
came back, and opening the gate, knocked at the door. Her heart beat
violently. He was a stranger, not at all like Ralph; but could he have
brought news of him? She flew to open the door.

"Beg pardon, ma'am; are you Jessie Flamank?" asked the stranger, pulling
off his hat with a sailor's courtesy.

"Oh, who are you? Oh, tell me why you have come!" exclaimed Jessie,
scarcely able in her agitation to utter the words.

"Why, do you see, I'm an old shipmate of one you knew once upon a time,
and I thought as now I was at Plymouth I'd come and look you up and see
how you were getting on, and have a talk about him," answered the man,
stepping in as Jessie made way for him.

"Then do you bring me no news of him--of Ralph Michelmore?" she asked,
in a trembling voice.

"Not what you may call news; seeing as how it's better than two years
since I last set eyes on my old messmate," answered the stranger, taking
a chair, while Jessie, unable to support herself, sank into the one she
had left. "He told me all about you," he continued, "how you were to be
married when he was pressed along with me and others, and so I came to
know you: and, said I to myself, now that he's gone, poor fellow, and
she's all forlorn-like, maybe, I'll try and comfort her a bit."

Poor Jessie! This strange address from the rough sailor, though
apparently