olours at the top; down each side, encricled in laurels, were
kings and queens of England with their sceptres, and in the middle I read
the initials, A. F-G.  R. R., embedded in blue forget-me-hots.  I could
not doubt it was from my father.  Riding out in the open air as I
received it, I could fancy in my hot joy that it had dropped out of
heaven.

'He's alive; I shall have him with me; I shall have him with me soon!'
I cried to Temple.  'Oh!  why can't I answer him?  where is he?  what
address?  Let's ride to London.  Don't you understand, Temple?  This
letter's from my father.  He knows I'm here.  I'll find him, never mind
what happens.'

'Yes, but,' said Temple, 'if he knows where you are, and you don't know
where he is, there's no good in your going off adventuring.  If a fellow
wants to be hit, the best thing he can do is to stop still.'

Struck by the perspicacity of his views, I turned homeward.  Temple had
been previously warned by me to avoid speaking of my father at Riversley;
but I was now in such a boiling state of happiness, believing that my
father would certainly appear as he had done at Dipwell farm, brilliant
and cheerful, to bear me away to new scenes and his own dear society,
that I tossed the valentine to my aunt across the breakfast-table,
laughing and telling her to guess the name of the sender.  My aunt
flushed.

'Miss Bannerbridge?' she said.

A stranger was present.  The squire introduced us.

'My grandson, Harry Richmond, Captain William Bulsted, frigate
Polyphemus; Captain Bulsted, Master Augustus Temple.'

For the sake of conversation, Temple asked him if his ship was fully
manned.

'All but a mate,' said the captain.

I knew him by reputation as the brother of Squire Gregory Bulsted of
Bulsted, notorious for his attachment to my aunt, and laughing-stock of
the county.

'So you've got a valentine,' the captain addressed me.  'I went on shore
at Rio last year on this very day of the month, just as lively as you
youngsters for one.  Saltwater keeps a man's youth in pickle.  No
valentine 