more about her. I never thought of this;
but I am so glad. You will have some one
to love and care for you out there. Tell us
all about it."

"In the first place, she is a Roman Catholic.
That's the only objection I anticipated.
But my father's change of opinion—nay,
Margaret, don't sigh."

Margaret had reason to sigh a little more
before the conversation ended. Frederick
himself was Roman Catholic in fact, though not in
profession as yet. This was, then, the reason
why his sympathy in her extreme distress at
her father's leaving the Church had been so
faintly expressed in his letters. She had
thought it was the carelessness of a sailor;
but the truth was, that even then he was
himself inclined to give up the form of religion
into which he had been baptised, only that
his opinions were tending in exactly the
opposite direction to those of his father. How
much love had to do with this change not
even Frederick himself could have told.
Margaret gave up talking about this branch
of the subject at last; and, returning to the
fact of the engagement, she began to
consider it in some fresh light:

"But for her sake, Fred, you surely will
try and clear yourself of the exaggerated
charges brought against you, even if the
charge of mutiny itself be true. If there were
to be a court-martial, and you could find your
witnesses, you might at any rate show how
your disobedience to authority was because
that authority was unworthily exercised."

Mr. Hale roused himself up to listen to his
son's answer.

"In the first place, Margaret, who is to
hunt up my witnesses? All of them are
sailors, drafted off to other ships, except those
whose evidence would go for very little, as
they took part, or sympathised in the affair.
In the next place, allow me to tell you, you
don't know what a court-martial is, and
consider it as an assembly where justice is
administered, instead of what it really is—a
court where authority weighs nine-tenths in
the balance, and evidence forms only the
other tenth. In such cases, evidence itself
can hardly escape being influenced by the
prestige of authority."

"But is it not worth trying, to see how
much evidence might be discovered and
arrayed on your behalf? At present, all
those who knew you formerly, believe you
guilty without any shadow of excuse. You
have never tried to justify yourself, and we
have never known where to seek for proofs
of your justification. Now, for Miss Barbour's
sake, make your conduct as clear as you can
in the eye of the world. She may not care
for it; she has, I am sure, that trust in you
that we all have; but you ought not to let
her ally herself to one under such a serious
charge, without showing the world exactly
how it is you stand. You disobeyed authority
—that was bad; but to have stood by without
word or act while that authority was
brutally used, would have been infinitely worse.
People know what you did; but not the
motives that elevate it out of a crime into an
heroic protection of the weak. For Dolores'
sake, they ought to know."

"But how must I make them know? I am
not sufficiently sure of the purity and justice
of those who would be my judges, to give
myself up to a court-martial, even if I could
bring a whole array of truth- speaking
witnesses. I can't send a bellman about, to cry
aloud and proclaim in the streets what you
are pleased to call my heroism. No one
would read a pamphlet of self-justification
so long after the deed, even if I put one
out."

"Will you consult a lawyer as to your
chances of exculpation?" asked Margaret,
looking up, and turning very red,

"I must first catch my lawyer, and have a
look at him, and see how I like him, before I
make him into my confidant. Many a briefless
barrister might twist his conscience into
thinking that he could earn a hundred pounds
very easily by doing a good action—in giving
me, a criminal, up to justice."

"Nonsense, Frederick! because I know a
lawyer on whose honour I can rely; of whose
cleverness in his profession people speak very
highly: and who would, I think, take a good
deal of trouble for any of—of Aunt Shaw's
relations. Mr. Henry Lennox, papa."

"I think it is a good idea," said Mr. Hale.
"But don't propose anything which will
detain Frederick in England. Don't, for
your mother's sake."

"You could go to London to-morrow
evening by a night-train," continued
Margaret, warming up into her plan. "He must
go to-morrow, I'm afraid, papa," said she,
tenderly; "we fixed that, because of Mr.
Bell, and Dixon's disagreeable acquaintance."

"Yes; I must go to-morrow," said
Frederick decidedly.

Mr. Hale groaned. "I can't bear to part
with you, and yet I am miserable with
anxiety as long as you stop here."

"Well then," said Margaret, "listen to my
plan. He gets to London on Friday morning.
I will—you might—no! it would be better
for me to give him a note to Mr. Lennox.
You will find him at his chambers in the
Temple."

"I will write down a list of all the names
I can remember on board the Orion. I could
leave it with him to ferret them out. He is
Edith's husband's brother, isn't he? I
remember your naming him in your letters. I
have money in Barbour's hands. I can pay a
pretty long bill, if there is any chance of
success. Money, dear father, that I had
meant for a different purpose; so I shall only
consider it as borrowed from you and
Margaret."

"Don't do that," said Margaret. "You
won't risk it if you do. And it will be a