“Really, Captain Luvaine,” said Miss Royston peevishly, “I protest you near frightened me to death.”

The melancholy soldier was apologizing with much humility and confusion, when up came Sir David, and insisted upon carrying off the gentlemen for a pipe and a glass.

CHAPTER XIII.

“When is it ye’re leavin’?

Is it the ocean’s heavin’

That sets your stummick grievin’,

To see what lies before?

What ails that nowt ’ll start ’ee?

We wait ye right and hearty,

Oh, Mounseer Buonaparte,