“It would have been an extraordinary circumstance truly,” she said, “that a man should have grown white-headed on the seas, and never have been struck with so noble a spectacle.  But then, my honest tar, you appear to be wrong in overlooking the striking faults in yonder ship, which this, a—­a—­this gentleman has just, and so properly, named.”

“I do not call them faults, your Ladyship.  Such is the way my late brave and excellent Commander always had his own ship rigged; and I am bold to say that a better seaman, or a more honest man, never served in his Majesty’s fleet.”

“And you have served the King!  How was your beloved Commander named?”

“How should he be!  By us, who knew him well, he was called Fair-weather:  for it was always smooth water, and prosperous times, under his orders; though, on shore, he was known as the gallant and victorious Rear-Admiral de Lacey.”

“And did my late revered and skilful husband cause his ships to be rigged in this manner?” said the widow, with a tremour in her voice, that bespoke how much, and how truly, she was overcome by surprise and gratified pride.

The aged tar lifted his bending frame from the stone, and bowed low, as he answered,—­“If I have the honour of seeing my Admiral’s Lady, it will prove a joyful sight to my old eyes.  Sixteen years did I serve in his own ship, and five more in the same squadron.  I dare say your Ladyship may have heard him speak of the captain of his main-top, Bob Bunt.”

“I dare say—­I dare say—­He loved to talk of those who served him faithfully.”

“Ay, God bless him, and make his memory glorious!  He was a kind officer, and one that never forgot a friend, let it be that his duty kept him on a yard or in the cabin.  He was the sailor’s friend, that very same Admiral!”

“This is a grateful man,” said Mrs de Lacey, wiping her eyes, “and I dare say a competent judge of a vessel.  And are you quite sure, worthy friend, that my late revered husband had all his ships arranged like the one of which we have been talking?”

“Very sure, Madam; for, with my own hands, did I assist to rig them.”

“Even to the bobstays?”

“And the gammonings, my Lady.  Were the Admiral alive, and here, he would call yon ‘a safe and well-fitted ship,’ as I am ready to swear.”

Mrs de Lacey turned, with an air of great dignity and entire decision, to Wilder, as she continued,—­“I have, then, made a small mistake in memory which is not surprising, when one recollects, that he who taught me so much of the profession is no longer here to continue his lessons.  We are much obliged to you, sir, for your opinion; but we must think that you have over-rated the danger.”

“On my honour, Madam,” interrupted Wilder laying his hand on his heart, and speaking with singular emphasis, “I am sincere in what I say.  I do affirm, that I believe there will be great danger in embarking in yonder ship; and I call Heaven to witness, that, in so saying, I am actuated by no malice to her Commander, her owners, nor any connected with her.”