"That's well," returned the admiral. "Sergeant, call my steward and have him assign chambers to the Marquis de Richemont. Coventry, I presume you will place your wardrobe at his disposal in case he needs anything. Now the marquis will doubtless wish to retire. We will see him in the morning. Come, Elizabeth. Good-night, sir; the sergeant will attend you."

"Lord Westbrooke, I thank you. Major Coventry, your servant. Lady Elizabeth, I wish you joy on your wedding; good-night," replied the young man, bowing to them all in succession.

As the admiral and the others left the room, the young lieutenant sank down on his chair and put his head upon his hands upon the table. The old sergeant, who had seen it all, watched him a moment in silence. Walking up to him finally, and laying his hand on his shoulder with the familiarity of a privileged character, he said,--

"Come now, sir, be a soldier."

"You can give no worse advice than that to a sailor, my friend," replied O'Neill, rising and smiling in spite of his misery. "Lead on, I will follow," he added.

As they passed down the great hall, the eyes of the wretched lieutenant fell upon a large picture hanging rather low on the wall in a far corner above a dais near the doorway. It was the portrait of a beautiful woman in the fashion of some fifty years back. She was seated in a great carved oak chair, the counterpart of and evidently painted from one sitting beneath it. In face and feature the portrait was a striking likeness of Lady Elizabeth Howard. The skill of the painter had been so great, the colors had been so nicely chosen, so delicately laid on, that in the flickering, uncertain candle-light, which left this part of the room in a rather deep shadow, the picture actually seemed to breathe. O'Neill stopped as if petrified.

"Come along, sir," said the sergeant, gruffly.

"A moment, if you please, my friend--a moment. What sort of a man are you to pass by such as this without notice? It should be Lady Elizabeth, but the fashion of the dress--"

"It's her mother, sir, a cousin of the admiral's. I pass it every day, sir, an' I've got so I don't take no notice on it, no more. She was a young thing, scarce older than her young Leddyship when she set for that paintin', an' they had no children for years, leastaways they all died till this baby was born, an' then she died too. I've been attached to the admiral's service in one way or 

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