"Are you able to support a wife, lad?" asked the veteran, at last, as he stroked the sunny hair of his granddaughter.

"Yes, sir; amply able."

"You have something more than a lieutenant's pay, then?"

"Yes, sir; I have a private fortune of my own."

"And your mother?"

"I have not told her yet, sir; but she is coming to call upon you immediately, and then I shall do so. I have no doubt what her answer will be; although, whatever it be, I am a man in years and my own master, and----"

"Nay, lad, a man's never wholly his own master in the presence of a good mother, and I'd have no child of mine coldly welcomed into any family. We shall see what your mother says. If she be content, I shall be very glad. You have no other tie?"

Emily lifted her head and looked at Revere as this question was put.

There were tears in her eyes and her heart almost ceased beating. She was sure of the answer, yet she longed to hear his specific reply.

"No, sir," answered the young man, boldly.

"Oh, Richard!" exclaimed Emily; "and Josephine!"

"Josephine!" said the old man; "who is she?"

"A connection of my family, sir, who has just announced to me her engagement to an estimable young man of our acquaintance."

"Richard," said Emily, springing to her feet, "you don't mean it?"

"I do. Will you kiss me now, Emily?"

Forgetful of the old man, she sprang into his arms.

"Children, children!" said the admiral, smiling indulgently; "you are in a great hurry, it seems to me. Ah, well, I remember when I was a lad, so many years ago, I was in a hurry, too. Now I wait.

Indifferently I wait. It cannot be much longer, and yet, for your sake, dear child, I was loath to go. Now, please G.o.d,--and your mother, young sir,--the child will be cared for. We can go now, I and the ship. I trust I will be able to leave you in love's hands; in the hands of a gentleman and a sailor, an officer of the navy of the United States,--your mother consenting, my lad,--that is as I would have it. Revere, may G.o.d bless you as you deal tenderly and lovingly with this daughter of my old, old age."

"And may G.o.d judge me, sir, if I do not so," answered Richard, solemnly.

"This kiss is for you, grandfather," answered the happy Emily, turning to him.

CHAPTER XIX

THE USUAL COURSE

They were together on the gun-platform once more, Emily and Revere.

She sat on the gun-carriage and he leaned against the parapet by her side. He held a fold of her dress in his hand.

"Now, d.i.c.k," she said, "tell me all about it. Was she vexed when she received your letter?"

"My darling, she has not seen it. She and mother started before my man got there. He is probably bringing it back here now. As good luck would have it, she has fallen in love with a certain Charles Van Dorn.

He's rather a poor stick, too, I think."

"She must be a strange girl, d.i.c.k, to fall in love with anybody else when you were around."

"Well, I don't know. At any rate, she did fall in love, and she came here of her own motion to break the engagement."

"I wonder how she will feel when she gets the letter?"

"Well, dearest, I thought, under the circ.u.mstances, I wouldn't give it to her."

"Not give it to her?" cried the girl, with sudden promptness and decision; "indeed you will give her that letter, sir! She shall know you loved me before she released you, and that you were going to break the engagement yourself. I won't have her think for a moment that I just got you because she threw you over. Not give her the letter, indeed!"

"Well, Emily," said Revere, deprecatingly, greatly surprised at this outburst; "you see I thought I would save her the--er--humiliation, you know, of being rejected by a man."

"And you will inflict on me, Richard Revere, the humiliation of letting her think that I only have you because she didn't want you!

That I----" furiously.

"Now, my dear; you know perfectly well that's different. If she has half an eye, as soon as she sees us together, she will know that I love you desperately as I never loved her. She is a bright girl."

"Bright! I don't think so!" contemptuously. "She is very stupid to give you up; but I'm glad she is----"

"I should think she would be awfully sorry to know that a man had broken his engagement with her, and that's why I----"

"Mr. Revere, I believe you are sorry yourself, after all! I believe you are half in love with her still!" reproachfully.

"Now, Emily, you know that's nonsense. Why, I felt so joyful when she said she was in love with that Van Dorn, that I had to turn away my face for fear she would see how enraptured I was."

"Why didn't you tell her frankly, honestly, right then, that you were pleased with it; that you were engaged to me; that you had broken the engagement before? It was your duty,--your duty to me. You failed me; you failed me before. I can't trust you." Most unkindly and unjustly spoken words were these, indeed.

"Why, Emily, my dear child----"

"I'm not a child, and don't you call me one! I am a woman, though you treat me like a child, and I'm not dear to you, either! You are sacrificing me to that other girl," bitterly, tearfully, but with great determination.

Revere was nonplussed by the revelation of these essentially feminine characteristics in Emily's otherwise charming personality. He did not know what to do or how to answer her in his bewilderment.

"Are you going to give her that letter or not?" she asked, insistently, after a pause which he appeared unable to break unaided.

"Well," he said at last, but very reluctantly, "I suppose if you insist upon it I must; but frankly, I think it would be better not to do so. I do not believe it is right."

"Is there something in it you don't want me to know?" suspiciously.

"Nothing; absolutely nothing. I told you all I said as near as I can remember. It's a matter of principle, Emily. I think you are wrong, dearest. I----"

"Oh, sir; then you will sacrifice me, will you, to your principle?

Very well, Mr. Revere, understand one thing: if you do not give that letter to her as soon as you get it back, you do not get me. I will not have any one think I am a second choice."

"But, Emily----"