y, as they did
not fancy finishing off their adventures by being made prisoners and
marched off to Verdun, or some other unpleasant place, where the French
at that time shut up their captives. At length a sloop of war arrived,
and they reached England in safety. Captain Order and his officers had
to undergo a court-martial for the loss of the frigate, when they were
not only honourably acquitted, but were complimented on the admirable
discipline which had been maintained, and were at once turned over to
another frigate, the _Dido_, lately launched, and fitting with all
possible dispatch for sea.

But there were sad hearts and weeping eyes in one humble home, where the
loss of two deeply loved ones was mourned; and even in the paternal hall
of O'Grady, and in the pretentious mansion of Devereux, sorrow was
expressed, and some tears were shed for those who had thus early been
cut off in their career of glory. We will not attempt to pry into the
grief which existed in Gerrard's home. It did not show itself by loud
cries and lamentations, but it was very evident that from one heart
there all joyousness had for ever flown. Still Mary bore up
wonderfully. All her attention seemed to be occupied in attending to
her mother, who, already delicate, felt Paul's loss dreadfully. Her
young brothers and sisters, too, required her care. As usual, she
taught them their lessons, made and mended their clothes, helped to cook
their dinners, and attended them at their meals. None of these things
did she for a day leave undone, and even Sarah and John, whispering
together, agreed that Mary could not have cared so very much for
Gilbert, and still less for poor Paul.

Some weeks passed on, when one day, when Mary was out marketing, Mrs
Gerrard received a letter curiously marked over--not very clean, and
with a high postage. Fortunately she had just enough to pay for it.
She read it more than once. "Poor, dear, sweet, good Mary!" she
exclaimed; "I almost fear to tell her; the revulsion may be too great.
I know how much she has suffered, though others don't."

A writer has a great advantage in being able to shift the scene, and to
go backwards or forwards in time as he may find necessary. We must go
back to that fine, bright, but bitterly cold morning when Lieutenant
Devereux and his companions set off to visit the frigate. They were
strong and hardy, had thick coats, and, besides, the exercise kept them
warm. The way was diffi