signature; it was 'Herbert Hardman!'

The reaction came, and Catherine for a time was calm. She said she
could listen to the contents of the letter; and Dodbury began to
peruse it. Hardman was alive and well; and a new tide of emotion
gushed forth from the panting listener. With the ardent impulse of a
pious heart, she sunk upon her knees, and uttered a fervent
thanksgiving to the universal Protector. It was long ere she could
hear more. There might be something behind--some dreadful
qualification to all the rapture with which her soul was flooded.
This thought was insupportable, and as Dodbury saw that his child
_must_ hear the whole, he read the epistle word for word. It was a
strange narrative.

When Herbert left Plympton Court, he determined to stay a night at
Plymouth. Walking on a place called Britain Side, near the quay, he
was unexpectedly seized by a press-gang. They hurried him on board
the tender, lying off Cat-down; and immediately draughted him to a
small frigate, which was to sail the next morning, as part of a
convoy to some Indian ships. Accordingly, they sailed. The frigate
was commissioned to drop dispatches at Gibraltar, and arriving off
that place she was obliged to lag some miles behind, to fulfil her
orders. After having done so, and made all sail to rejoin the convoy,
she was attacked by a Barbary rover of superior strength, was beaten,
most of the crew captured, and conveyed into port. They were taken to
the market-place, and sold as slaves. Herbert described these
extraordinary events as occurring so rapidly, that it was not till he
was established with his purchaser--a man of some property, who lived
on an estate at the edge of the Sahara desert--that he had time to
reflect on them. Hoping that some of the officers or crew had