"Fortune is merry,
And in this mood will give us anything."—JULIUS CÆSAR.
Captain Guy Campbell sat in the parlor of the Westport House, as the flaming gilt signboard announced, his heels elevated on the window-sill, his chair tipped back, a cigar in his mouth, and a newspaper in his hand. Many people were passing in and out, some of whom he greeted with a nod, others with a brief salutation, while he still went on with his reading and smoking. There seemed to be nothing very exciting in the paper, judging by Captain Campbell's suppressed yawns; and he was about to throw it aside as worthless, when a paragraph caught his eye, that brought him to his feet, as suddenly as though those members were furnished with steel springs.
The paragraph was brief, and ran thus:
"If Mark Campbell, Esq., of Campbell's Isle, be still alive, he is earnestly requested to call immediately at the office of C. Ringdon, Attorney-at-Law, No 16 —— street, Westport. In case of his death, his heirs should apply.
C. RINGDON."
"Now, what in the name of Neptune and all his scaly court can this mean?" ejaculated the amazed Captain Campbell.
"Should be happy to inform you," said a voice behind him, "only I don't happen to know what you're talking about."
Captain Campbell turned round, and saw a fashionably dressed young man, who had just entered, standing beside him.
"Ah, Stafford! how are you?" he said, extending his hand; "happy to see you. What in the world brought you here?—the very last person I ever expected to see in this quarter of the globe."
"Well," said Stafford, leisurely seating himself, "I came down here, nominally, to transact some business for the governor; but the fact is, I heard the Evening Star had arrived, and I wanted to pay my devoirs to her majesty, the Queen of the Isle. How is pretty Lady Sibyl?"