She tried to speak, but the
agony of joy which she felt choked her. The father read the
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.
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