“My lord, I am quite satisfied with what you have said; and I only hope that, in future, you will not interfere with a poor smuggler, who may be striving, by a life of danger and privation, to procure subsistence for himself, and, perhaps, his family. I stated to these ladies my intention of anchoring the yacht this night at Cowes, and leaving her as soon as she was in safety. Your unexpected presence will only make this difference, which is, that I must previously obtain your lordship’s assurance that those with you will allow me and my men to quit her without molestation, after we have performed this service.”

“I pledge you my word, Mr Pickersgill, and thank you into the bargain. I trust you will allow me to offer some remuneration.”

“Most certainly not, my lord.”

“At all events, Mr Pickersgill, if, at any other time, I can be of service, you may command me.”

Pickersgill made no reply.

“Surely, Mr Pickersgill—”

“Pickersgill! How I hate that name!” said the smuggler, musing. “I beg your lordship’s pardon—If I may require your assistance for any of my unfortunate companions—”

“Not for yourself, Mr Pickersgill?” said Mrs Lascelles.

“Madam, I smuggle no more.”

“For the pleasure I feel in hearing that resolution, Mr Pickersgill,” said Cecilia, “take my hand and thanks.”

“And mine,” said Mrs Lascelles, half crying.

“And mine, too,” said Lord B—, rising up.

Pickersgill passed the back of his hand across his eyes, turned round, and left the cabin.

“I’m so happy!” said Mrs Lascelles, bursting into tears.

“He’s a magnificent fellow,” observed Lord B—. “Come, let us all go on deck.”

“You have not seen my aunt, papa.”

“True; I’ll go in to her, and then follow you.”

The ladies went upon deck. Cecilia entered into conversation with Mr Stewart, giving him a narrative of what had happened. Mrs Lascelles sat abaft at the taffrail, with her pretty hand supporting her cheek, looking very much à la Juliette.

“Mrs Lascelles,” said Pickersgill, “before we part, allow me to observe, that it is you who have induced me to give up my profession—”

“Why me, Mr Pickersgill?”

“You said that you did not like it.”

Mrs Lascelles felt the force of the compliment.

“You said just now that you hated the name of Pickersgill: why do you call yourself so?”

“It was my smuggling name, Mrs Lascelles.”

“And now that you have left off smuggling, pray what may be the name we are to call you by?”

“I cannot resume it till I have not only left this vessel, but shaken hands with, and bid farewell to my companions; and by that time, Mrs Lascelles, I shall be away from you.”

“But I’ve a great curiosity to know it; and a lady’s curiosity must be gratified. You must call upon me some day, and tell it me. Here is my address.”

Pickersgill received the card with a low bow: and Lord B— coming on deck, Mrs Lascelles hastened to meet him.

The vessel was now passing the Bridge at the Needles, and the smuggler piloted her on. As soon as they were clear and well inside, the whole party went down into the cabin, Lord B— requesting Pickersgill and Corbett to join him in a parting glass. Mr Stewart, who had received the account of what had passed from Cecilia, was very attentive to Pickersgill and took an opportunity of saying that he was sorry that he had said or done anything to annoy him. Every one recovered his spirits: and all was good humour and mirth, because Miss Ossulton adhered her resolution of not quitting the cabin till she could quit the yacht. At ten o’clock the yacht was anchored. Pickersgill took his leave of the honourable company and went in his boat with his men; and Lord B— was again in possession of his vessel, although he had not ship’s company. Maddox recovered his usual tone; and the cook flourished his knife, swearing that he should like to see the smuggler who would again order him to dress cutlets à l’ombre Chinoise.

The yacht had remained three days at Cowes, when Lord B— received a letter from Pickersgill, stating that the men of his vessel had been captured, and would be condemned, in consequence of their having the gentlemen on board, who were bound to appear against them, to prove that they had sunk the brandy. Lord B— paid all the recognisances, and the men were liberated for want of evidence.

It was about two years after this that Cecilia Ossulton, who was sitting at her work-table in deep mourning for her aunt, was presented with a letter by the butler. It was from her friend Mrs Lascelles, informing her that she was married again to a Mr Davenant, and intended to pay her, a short visit on her way to the Continent. Mr and Mrs Davenant arrived the next day; and when the latter introduced her husband, she said to Miss Ossulton, “Look, Cecilia, dear, and tell me if you have ever seen Davenant before.”

Cecilia looked earnestly: “I have, indeed,” cried she at last, extending her hand with warmth; “and happy am I to meet with him again.”

For in Mr Davenant she recognised her old acquaintance the captain of the Happy-go-lucky, Jack Pickersgill the smuggler.

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