“Really, Elrington, or Musgrave, I hardly know which to call you.”
“Musgrave is my real name, Sir,” replied I.
“Musgrave—Musgrave—where did I know a Musgrave?”
“We are from the north,” replied I.
“Well,” said he, “I was going to say, that I really wish I could find some one else to take your place in this voyage, for I do not much like your going.”
“Do, my dear father,” said Miss Trevannion, who was standing by him.
“Hey! Miss Amy, what have you to do with it, I should like to know, and how can it concern you whether Mr Musgrave goes or not?”
“I said so, Sir, because I know how you will feel his loss for so long a period. You know how you did feel his loss before, and I do not wish to see you working so hard, as you will have to do it without his assistance.”
“Well, that’s kindly thought, Amy, at all events; but still I fear that Mr Musgrave must go, and I must work by myself till he comes back; so it’s no use saying any more about it.”
Amy sighed and made no reply. On the third day after this interview, everything was ready, and on the following morning I was to sail. Mr Trevannion had so many directions to give, and kept me so wholly with him, that I could hardly find time to speak to his daughter. However, it was agreed that as I was to sail at daylight, that she would see me after her father had gone to bed. Our meeting took place—need I say that it was a tender one. We renewed our vows over and over again, and it was not till past midnight that I tore myself away. Old Humphrey looked very knowingly at me when he let me out of the street-door. I slipped a guinea in his hand and wished him good-bye. I hastened on board of the Sparrow-Hawk, and, desiring to be called before daylight, went down into the cabin. There I remained sitting at the table and thinking of Amy so long, that when the mate came down to wake me he found that I was still sitting there, having never been to bed during the whole of the night.