acquainted with every member of the family.  Of Herbert, Edward would speak with enthusiasm; he little knew, poor fellow, that the cousin whose character he almost venerated was gone to his last home, that he should never see him more.  Letters detailing that melancholy event had been forwarded to the Gem, arriving there just one week after the young sailor’s disappearance; and, when informed of his safety, Captain Seaforth, then on his way to England, had no opportunity of forwarding them to him.  His repeated mention of Herbert in his letters home, his anxious desire to hear something of him, were most painful to his family, and Ellen was more than ever anxious he should receive the account ere he returned.

Among other subjects discussed between them, Mordaunt once asked Edward who now bore the title of Lord Delmont, and had appeared somewhat agitated when told the title was now extinct, and had become so from the melancholy death of the promising young nobleman on whom it had devolved.

“Sir George Wilmot is out in his prognostication then,” he observed, after a pause.  “I remember, when a youngster under his command, hearing him repeatedly prophesy that a Delmont would revive the honour of his ancient house by naval fame.  Poor Charles was ever his favourite amongst us.”

“You were my uncle’s messmate then,” said Edward, in a tone of surprise and joy.  “Why did you not tell me this before, that I might ask all the questions I long to know concerning him?”

“And what have you heard of Charles to call for this extreme interest?” replied Mordaunt, with his peculiar smile.  “I should have thought that long ere this my poor friend had been forgotten in his native land.”

“Forgotten! and by a sister who doted on him; who has never ceased to lament his melancholy fate; who ever held him up to my young fancy as one of those whom it should be my glory to resemble.  Did you know my aunt, as, by two or three things I have heard you say, I fancy you must, you could never suspect her of forgetting one she loved as she did her brother.  My uncle Charles is enshrined in her memory too fondly for time to efface it.”

Tears rose to Mordaunt’s eager eyes at these words; he turned aside a moment to conceal his agitation, then asked if Sir George Wilmot ever spoke of Manvers.  Animatedly Edward related the old Admiral’s agitation the first night he had seen him at Oakwood; how feelingly he had spoken of one, whom he said he had ever regarded as the adopted son of his affections, the darling of his childless years, his gallant, merry Charles.  Mordaunt twined his arm in Edward’s, and looked up in his face, as if to thank him for the consolation his words imparted.  Again was there an expression in his countenance, which sent a thrill to the young man’s heart, but vainly he tried to discover wherefore.