and McElvina; and the faithful
and valuable services of the latter, added to the high opinion which the
old man had of his honesty--which, to do McElvina justice, had been most
scrupulous--had determined him to let things take their own course.
Indeed, there was no one with whom old Hornblow was acquainted to whom
he would have entrusted his daughter's happiness with so much confidence
as to our reformed captain.

A sharp double tap at the street door announced the post, and in a few
minutes after this conversation the clerk appeared with a letter for old
Hornblow, who, pursuant to the prudent custom of those days, had his
counting-house on the ground floor of his own residence, which enabled
him to go to his dinner, and return to his business in the evening.
Nowadays we are all above our business, and live above our means (which
is in itself sufficient to account for the general distress that is
complained of); and the counting-house is deserted before dusk, that we
may arrive at our residences in Russell-square, or the Regent's-park, in
time to dress for a turtle dinner at six o'clock, instead of a mutton
chop, or single joint, _en famille_, at two.

But to return. Old Hornblow put on his spectacles (which were on the
table since they had been removed from his nose by Susan when she kissed
him), and examined the post-mark, seal, and superscription, as if he
wished to tax his ingenuity with a guess previously to opening the
letter, which would have saved him all that trouble, and have decided
the point of scrutiny--viz., from whom it came?

"McElvina, I rather think," said he, musing; "but the postmark is
Plymouth. How the deuce--!" The two first lines of the letter were
read, and the old man's countenance fell. Susan, who had been all alive
at the mention of McElvina's name, perceived the alteration in her
father's looks.

"No bad news, I hope, my dear father?"

"Bad enough," replied the old man, with a deep sigh; "the lugger is
taken by a frigate, and sent into Plymouth."

"And Captain McElvina--he's not hurt, I hope?"

"No, I presume not, as he has written the letter, and says nothing about
it."

Satisfied upon this point, Susan, who recollected her father's promise,
was undutiful enough, we are sorry to say, to allow her heart to bound
with joy at the circumstance. All her fond hopes were about to be
realised, and she could hardly refrain from carolling the words of
Ariel, "Where the bee sucks, ther