The Rover gazed long and silently on the flushed countenance of the speaker.  Bending his face in an unconscious manner aside, he said aloud, evidently rather giving utterance to his thoughts than pursuing the discourse,—­

“Now, is there nothing more in this than what I have often heard, and yet does it come over my feelings with the freshness of native air!” Then rising, he approached his mild and dignified companion, adding, in tones but little above a whisper, “Lady repeat those words; change not a syllable, nor vary the slightest intonation of the voice, I pray thee.”

Though amazed, and secretly alarmed at the request, Mrs Wyllys complied; delivering the holy language of the inspired writers with a fervour that found its support in the strength of her own emotions.  Her auditor listened like a being enthralled.  For near a minute, neither eye nor attitude was changed, but he stood at the feet of her who had so simply and so powerfully asserted the majesty of God, as motionless as the mast that rose behind him through the decks of that vessel which he had so long devoted to the purposes of his lawless life.  It was long after her accents had ceased to fall on his ear, that he drew a deep respiration, and once again opened his lips to speak.

“This is re-treading the path of life at a stride.” he said, suffering his hand to fall upon that of his companion.  “I know not why pulses, which in common are like iron, beat so wildly and irregularly now.  Lady, this little and feeble hand might check a temper that has so often braved the power of”—­

His words suddenly ceased; for, as his eye unconsciously followed his hand, it rested on the still delicate, but no longer youthful, member of the governess Drawing a sigh, like one who felt himself awakened from an agreeable though complete illusion he turned away, leaving his sentence unfinished.

“You would have music!” he recklessly exclaimed aloud.  “Then music shall be heard, though its symphony be rung upon a gong!”

As he spoke, the wayward and vacillating being we have been attempting to describe struck the instrument he named three blows, so quick and powerfully, as to drown all other sensations in the confusion produced by the echoing din.  Though deeply mortified that he had so quickly escaped from the influence she had partially acquired, and secretly displeased at the unceremonious manner in which he had seen fit to announce his independence again, the governess was aware of the necessity of concealing her sentiments.

“This is certainly not the harmony I invited,” she said, so soon as the overwhelming sounds had ceased to fill the ship; “nor do I think it of a quality to favour the slumbers of those who seek their rest.”

“Fear nothing for them.  The seaman sleeps with his ear near the port whence the cannon bellows, and awakes at the call of the boatswain’s whistle.  He is too deeply schooled in habit, to think he has heard more than a note of the flute; stronger and fuller than common, if you will, but still a sound that has no interest for him.  Another tap would have sounded the alarm of fire; but these three touches say no more than music.  It was the signal for the band.  The night is still, and favourable for their art, and we will listen to sweet sounds awhile.”