her
trouble, and the money cannot be spent better than in helping to set it
right. She has a little of her own which she wished to contribute, but
I thought it best to work it this way. Will you take the cheque, Mrs.
Denver, and I think it would be best if you said nothing to Harold about
it, and just used it as the occasion served?"

"God bless you, Walker, you are a true friend. I won't forget this,
Walker." The Admiral sat down on his sea chest and mopped his brow with
his red handkerchief.

"What is it to me whether you have it now or then? It may be more useful
now. There's only one stipulation. If things should come to the worst,
and if the business should prove so bad that nothing can set it right,
then hold back this cheque, for there is no use in pouring water into a
broken basin, and if the lad should fall, he will want something to pick
himself up again with."

"He shall not fall, Walker, and you shall not have occasion to be
ashamed of the family into which your daughter is about to marry. I
have my own plan. But we shall hold your money, my friend, and it will
strengthen us to feel that it is there."

"Well, that is all right," said Doctor Walker, rising. "And if a little
more should be needed, we must not let him go wrong for the want of a
thousand or two. And now, Admiral, I'm off for my morning walk. Won't
you come too?"

"No, I am going into town."

"Well, good-bye. I hope to have better news, and that all will come
right. Good-bye, Mrs. Denver. I feel as if the boy were my own, and I
shall not be easy until all is right with him."

CHAPTER XIII. IN STRANGE WATERS.

When Doctor Walker had departed, the Admiral packed all his possessions
back into his sea chest with the exception of one little brass-bound
desk. This he unlocked, and took from it a dozen or so blue sheets of
paper all mottled over with stamps and seals, with very large V. R.'s
printed upon the heads of them. He tied these carefully into a small
bundle, and placing them in the inner pocket of his coat, he seized his
stick and hat.

"Oh, John, don't do this rash thing," cried Mrs. Denver, laying her
hands upon his sleeve. "I have seen so little of you, John. Only three
years since you left the service. Don't leave me again. I know it is
weak of me, but I cannot bear it."

"There's my own brave lass," said he, smoothing down the grey-shot hair.
"We've lived in honor together, mother, and please God in honor we'll
die. N