the navy, and by dint of influence and attention to his profession, he
had gradually risen to the position in which we have found him, as a
commander in her majesty's service on the India station. That he loved
the widow's daughter was true--that is to say, as sincerely as he was
capable of loving any one; but his soul was too selfish to entertain
true love for another.

The same spirit that had led him to the petty oppressions and the
ceaseless annoyances which he had exercised towards his younger brother
in childhood, still actuated him, and there was not a gleam of that
chivalric spirit which his profession usually inspires in those who
adopt it as a calling, shining within the recesses of his breast.
Entirely unlike Miss Huntington in every particular, we have yet seen
that he exercised some singular power over her--that is, so far as to
really interest her beyond even a degree that she was willing to exhibit
before him. What and why this was so must more clearly appear in the
course of the story as it progresses.

Mrs. Huntington was a lady of polished manner and cultivated intellect,
belonging to what might be termed the old school of English gentlewomen.
She had reared her only child with jealous care and assiduous attention,
so that her mind had been richly stored in classic lore, and her hands
duly instructed in domestic duties. There was no mock-modesty about the
mother, she was straightforward and literal in all she said or did;
evidently of excellent family, she was sufficiently assured of her
position not to be sensitive about its recognition by others, and
preferred to instil into her daughter's mind sound wholesome principles
to useless and giddy accomplishments. And yet the daughter was
accomplished, an excellent musician upon the piano and harp, and a
vocalist of rare sweetness and perfection of execution, as well as