How could I have been so dull? You went and
took them out." "To be sure we did--to be sure we did, my dear; that's how we managed
them. And, do you see, at the end of the war I found myself with lots of
prize money, all wrung from old England's enemies, and I intend that
some of it shall find it's way to your brother's pocket; and you see
that will bear out just what I said, that the enemies of his king and
his country shall free him from his difficulties--don't you see?" "I see your noble generosity, admiral." "Noble fiddlestick! Now I have mentioned this matter to you, my dear,
and I don't so much mind talking to you about such matters as I should
to your brother, I want you to do me the favour of managing it all for
me." "How, sir?" "Why, just this way. You must find out how much money will free your
brother just now from a parcel of botherations that beset him, and then
I will give it to you, and you can hand it to him, you see, so I need
not say anything about it; and if he speaks to me on the subject at all,
I can put him down at once by saying, 'avast there, it's no business of
mine.'" "And can you, dear admiral, imagine that I could conceal the generous
source from where so much assistance came?" "Of course; it will come from you. I take a fancy to make you a present
of a sum of money; you do with it what you please--it's yours, and I
have no right and no inclination to ask you what use you put it to." Tears gushed from the eyes of Flora as she tried to utter some word, but
could not. The admiral swore rather fearfully, and pretended to wonder
much what on earth she could be crying for. At length, after the first
gush of feeling was over, she said,--

"I cannot accept of so much generosity, sir--I dare not"

"Dare not!" "No; I should think meanly of myself were I to take advantage of the
boundless munificence of your nature." "Take advantage! I should like to see anybody take advantage of me,
that's all." "I ought not to take the money of you. I will speak to my brother, and
well I know how much he will appreciate the noble, generous offer, my
dear sir." "Well, settle it your own way, only remember I have a right to do what I
like with my own money." "Undoubtedly." "Very good. Then as that is undoubted, whatever I lend to him, mind I
give to you, so it's as broad as it's long, as the Dutchman said, when
he looked at the new ship that was built for him, and you may as well
take it yourself you see, and make no more fuss about it." "I will consider," said Flora, with much emotion--"between this time and
the same hour to-morrow I will consider, sir, and if you can find any
words more expressive of heartfelt gratitude than others, pray imagine
that I have used them with reference to my own feelings towards you for
such an unexampled offer of friendship." "Oh, bother--stuff." The admiral now at once changed the subject, and began to talk of
Charles--a most grateful theme to Flora, as may well be supposed. He
related to her many little particulars connected with him which all
tended to place his character in a most amiable light, and as her ears
drank in the words of commendation of him she loved, what sweeter music
could there be to her than the voice of that old weather-beaten
rough-spoken man. "The idea," he added, to a warm eulogium he had uttered concerning
Charles--"the idea that he could write those letters my dear, is quite
absurd." "It is, indeed. Oh, that we could know what had become of him!" "We shall know. I don't think but what he's alive. Something seems to
assure me that we shall some of these days look upon his face again." "I am rejoiced to hear you say so." "We will stir heaven and earth to find him. If he were killed, do you
see, there would have been some traces of him now at hand; besides, he
would have been left lying where the rascals attacked him." Flora shuddered. "But don't you fret yourself. You may depend that the sweet little
cherub that sits up aloft has looked after him." "I will hope so." "And now, my dear, Master Henry will soon be home, I am thinking, and as
he has quite enough disagreeables on his own mind to be able to spare a
few of them, you will take the earliest opportunity, I am sure, of
acquainting him with the little matter we have been talking about, and
let me know what he says." "I will--I will." "That's right. Now, go in doors, for there's a cold air blowing here,
and you are a delicate plant rather just now--go in and make yourself
comfortable and easy. The worst storm must blow over at last." CHAPTER XXXI. SIR FRANCIS VARNEY AND HIS MYSTERIOUS VISITOR.--THE STRANGE CONFERENCE. Sir Francis Varney is in what he calls his own apartment. It is night,
and a dim and uncertain light from a candle which has been long
neglected, only serves to render obscurity more perplexing. The room is
a costly one. One replete with all the appliances of refinement and
luxury which the spirit and the genius of the age could possibly supply
him with, but there is upon his brow the marks of corroding care, and
little does that most mysterious being seem to care for all the rich
furnishing of that apartment in which he sits. His cadaverous-looking face is even paler and more death-like-looking
than usual; and, if it can be conceived possible that such an one can
feel largely interested in human affairs, to look at him, we could well
suppose that some interest of no common magnitude was at stake. Occasionally, too, he muttered some unconnected words, no doubt mentally
filling up the gaps, which rendered the sentences incomplete, and being
unconscious, perhaps, that he was giving audible utterance to any of his
dark and secret meditations. At length he rose, and with an anxious expression of countenance, he
went to the window, and looked out into the darkness of the night. All
was still, and not an object was visible. It was that pitchy darkness
without, which, for some hours, when the moon is late in lending her
reflected beams, comes over the earth's surface. "It is near the hour," he muttered. "It is now very near the hour;
surely he will come, and yet I know not why I should fear him, although
I seem to tremble at the thought of his approach. He will surely come. Once a year--only once does he visit me, and then 'tis but to take the
price which he has compelled me to pay for that existence, which but for
him had been long since terminated. Sometimes I devoutly wish it were." With a shudder he returned to the seat he had so recently left, and
there for some time he appeared to meditate in silence. Suddenly now, a clock, which was in the hall of that mansion he had
purchased, sounded the hour loudly. "The time has come," said Sir Francis. "The time has come. He will
surely soon be here. Hark! hark!" Slowly and distinctly he counted the strokes of the clock, and, when
they had ceased, he exclaimed, with sudden surprise--

"Eleven! But eleven! How have I been deceived. I thought the hour of
midnight was at hand."