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"And what do dogs and children think of you?" he asked, abruptly.,

After breakfast Captain Acton and Lucy walked the deck, whilst the Admiral, with his big pipe, seated himself right aft all alone, for this little ship was steered by a wheel in front of the deck-house; he sat puffing out clouds of tobacco with his eyes fixed upon the glimmering phantoms of the British Fleet, which hovered in the north-east quarter in a few dim, waning gleams; and the moods of his mind[Pg 407] were faithfully reproduced in his jolly, honest, well-bred, kindly face.,

"Not to my husband, sir, who naturally thought the matter all right, and said he would be on board at half-past seven.",

With a bound he was outside and over beside her. She sat on the block beneath the hop-vine, her face in her apron. She was rocking to and fro and sobbing.

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The schooner occupied five weeks in reaching England from the hour of her parting company with the frigate and shortly after with the Minorca. All that time Mr Lawrence lay upon his back; but the wounds slowly healed, and he gradually recovered his strength. And when the schooner brought up off Falmouth Mr Lawrence was nearly well.,

"In what things, sir?",

"I am glad to know that you return and find your wife and little boy well," said Lucy.,

If he doubted her insanity at all his suspicion had no stiffer ground than the shallow sand on which reposed his hope[Pg 327] that she was acting. Throughout this passage he did not think to consider her as the child of a great actress. To him she had always been a gentle, sweet, undemonstrative girl, ingenuous in speech, kind, charitable, beloved by the poor, one whose pursuits were amiable and pure. She was nimble and poetical with her pencil. She sang pretty songs prettily. Her beauty informed with a colour of its own the melodies her fingers evoked from the keys or strings of the instruments she touched. He could not think of her as having the talents of an actress, or even the tastes of one. He had never heard of her taking a part in a performance above a charade. Nothing, therefore, but madness or an extraordinary dramatic genius which it was impossible for him to think of her as possessing, could create those parts which she had enacted before him in a manner so immoderately life-like, so absolutely in unison with what he himself could conceive of the behaviour of madness, that deep in his soul might be found the conviction that she had lost her reason, and that his passionate, unprincipled love was the cause of it.