The doctors could not make it out.
Yet the sole object of her thoughts was the adventurous stray one, Ned Warbeck, “her favourite boy.”
While propped up in her chair, one day in the parlour, and surrounded by her friends, she was continually speaking of her “poor sailor boy,” Ned, when a gentleman, who was present, said,
“Well, madam, I know not who your young favourite is, but I am a sailor myself and love the profession.”
“It is a compliment to me to hear you speak in such glowing terms of our gallant tars.
“And the bravest of them all is Ned Warbeck, I know,” said the old dame with a flushed cheek.
“Of course he is,” said old Sir Andrew, trying to smile, but at the same time, congratulating himself at the potent power of the secret poison he was daily administering for the sake of the good old dame’s money. “Ned Warbeck, of course he is the bravest of the brave,” he muttered, “there isn’t a lad in all the king’s navy like to him.”
“Ned Warbeck?” said the stranger, in astonishment.
“Yes, do you know him?” asked the good dame, in great curiosity.
The stranger did not answer, but said, “If you will only listen, I’ll tell you something that will gratify you.”