sat down on the sofa together.

"I have the misfortune never to appear before you, Celeste, except in a
very unprepossessing state. When you first saw me I was wounded; at our
next meeting I was in woman's clothes; the last time we met I was
covered with dirt and gunpowder; and now I return to you wounded and in
rags. I wonder whether I shall ever appear before you as a gentleman?"

"It is not the clothes which make the gentleman, Peter. I am too happy
to see you to think of how you are dressed. I have never yet thanked you
for your kindness to us when we last met. My father will never forget
it."

"Nor have I thanked you, Celeste, for your kindness in dropping the
purse into the hat, when you met me, trying to escape from France. I
have never forgotten you, and since we met the last time, you have
hardly ever been out of my thoughts. You don't know how thankful I am to
the hurricane for having blown me into your presence. When we cruised in
the brig, I have often examined the town with my glass, trying to fancy
that I had my eye upon the house you were in; and have felt so happy
when we were close in shore, because I knew that I was nearer to you."

"And, Peter, I have often watched the brig, and have been so glad to see
it come nearer, and then so afraid that the batteries would fire at you.
What a pity it is that my father and you should be opposed to each
other--we might be so happy!"

"And may be yet, Celeste," replied I.

We conversed for two hours, which appeared to be but ten minutes. I felt
that I was in love, but I do not think that Celeste had any idea at the
time that she was--but I leave the reader to judge from the little
conversation I have quoted, whether she was not, or something very much
approaching to it.

The next morning I went out early to look for the brig, and, to my great
delight, saw her about six miles off the harbour's mouth, standing in
for the land. She had now got up very respectable jury-masts, with
topgallants for topsails, and appeared to be well under command. When
she was within three miles of the harbour she lowered the jolly-boat,
the only one she had left, and it pulled in-shore with a flag of truce
hoisted at the bows. I immediately returned to my room, and wrote a
detailed account of what had taken place, ready to send to O'Brien when
the boat returned, and I, of course, requested him to send me my
effects, as I had nothing but what I stood in. I had just completed my
l