nd loose white neckcloth, spectacles on nose, which
he wore considerably below the bridge and peered over, as if their main
use were to sight his eye; a beaver hat, with broadish brim, on his
head. A man of no station, it was evident to the ladies at once, and
they would have taken no further notice of him had he not been seen
stepping toward them in the rear of the young midshipman.

The latter came to Evan, and said: 'A fellow of the name of Goren wants
you. Says there's something the matter at home.'

Evan advanced, and bowed stiffly.

Mr. Goren held out his hand. 'You don't remember me, young man? I cut
out your first suit for you when you were breeched, though! Yes-ah! Your
poor father wouldn't put his hand to it. Goren!'

Embarrassed, and not quite alive to the chapter of facts this name
should have opened to him, Evan bowed again.

'Goren!' continued the possessor of the name. He had a cracked voice,
that when he spoke a word of two syllables, commenced with a lugubrious
crow, and ended in what one might have taken for a curious question.

'It is a bad business brings me, young man. I 'm not the best messenger
for such tidings. It's a black suit, young man! It's your father!'

The diplomatist and his lady gradually edged back but Rose remained
beside the Countess, who breathed quick, and seemed to have lost her
self-command.

Thinking he was apprehended, Mr. Goren said: 'I 'm going down to-night
to take care of the shop. He 's to be buried in his old uniform. You
had better come with me by the night-coach, if you would see the last of
him, young man.'

Breaking an odd pause that had fallen, the Countess cried aloud,
suddenly:

'In his uniform!'

Mr. Goren felt his arm seized and his legs hurrying him some paces into
isolation. 'Thanks! thanks!' was murmured in his ear. 'Not a word more.
Evan cannot bear it. Oh! you are good to have come, and we are grateful.
My father! my father!'

She had to tighten her hand and wrist against her bosom to keep herself
up. She had to reckon in a glance how much Rose had heard, or divined.
She had to mark whether the Count had understood a syllable. She had to
whisper to Evan to hasten away with the horrible man.

She had to enliven his stunned senses, and calm her own. And with
mournful images of her father in her brain, the female Spartan had to
turn to Rose, and speculate on the girl's reflective brows, while she
said, as over a distant relative, sadly, but with