likely to occur to a girl of twenty than to a girl of ten."

"Mr. John Effingham never lost an argument for the want of a convenient
fact, my love," the father observed by way of bringing the brief
discussion to a close. "But here are the boats approaching; let us
withdraw a little, and examine the chance medley of faces with which we
are to become familiar by the intercourse of a month."

"You will be much more likely to agree on a verdict of murder," muttered
the kinsman.

Mr. Effingham led his daughter into the hurricane-house--or, as the
packet-men quaintly term it, the _coach_-house, where they stood watching
the movements on the quarter-deck for the next half-hour; an interval of
which we shall take advantage to touch in a few of the stronger lights of
our picture, leaving the softer tints and the shadows to be discovered by
the manner in which the artist "tells the story."

Edward and John Effingham were brothers' children; were born on the same
day; had passionately loved the same woman, who had preferred the
first-named, and died soon after Eve was born; had, notwithstanding this
collision in feeling, remained sincere friends, and this the more so,
probably, from a mutual and natural sympathy in their common loss; had
lived much together at home, and travelled much together abroad, and were
now about to return in company to the land of their birth, after what
might be termed an absence of twelve years; though both had visited
America for short periods in the intervals,--John not less than
five times.

There was a strong family likeness between the cousins, their persons and