the faculty of hearing,
it would be thought that she was thus startled by the sound of a human
voice which had at that instant broken upon the solemn stillness of the
isle--a human voice emanating from a short distance behind her. As yet
she saw no one; but in a few moments a man emerged from the nearest
grove, and came slowly toward her.

He was dressed in a light jerkin, trunk-breeches, tight hose, and
boot--in all as an Italian gentleman of that day, save in respect to hat
and doublet, of which he had none. Neither wore he a sword by his side,
nor carried any weapons of defense; and it was evident he approached the
island queen with mingled curiosity and awe.

Perhaps he deemed her to be some goddess, endowed with the power and the
will to punish his intrusion on her realm; or peradventure his
superstitious imagination dwelt on the tales which sailors told in those
times--how mermaids who fed on human flesh dwelt on the coasts of
uninhabited islands, and assuming the most charming female forms, lured
into their embrace the victims whom shipwreck cast upon their strand,
and instead of lavishing on them the raptures of love, made them the
prey of their ravenous maws.

Whatever were his thoughts, the man drew near with evident distrust.
But, now--why does Nisida's countenance become suddenly crimson with
rage? why rushes she toward the stores which still remained piled up on
the strand? and wherefore, with the rapidity of the most feverish
impatience, does she hurl the weapons of defense into the sea, all save
one naked sword, with which she arms herself? Because her eagle glance,
quicker than that of the man who is approaching her, has recognized
_him_, ere he has even been struck with a suspicion relative to who
_she_ is--and that man is Stephano Verrina!

Now, Nisida! summon all thine energies to aid thee; for a strong, a
powerful, a remorseless man, devoured with lust for thee, is near. And
thou art so ravishingly beautiful in thy aerial drapery, and thy wreaths
of flowers, that an anchorite could not view thee with indifference! Ah!
Stephano starts--stops short--advances: the suspicion has struck him!
The aquiline countenance, those brilliant large, dark eyes, that
matchless raven hair, that splendid symmetrical maturity of form, and
withal, that close compression of the vermilion lips, O Nisida! have
been scanned in rapid detail by the brigand!

"Nisida!" he exclaimed; "Yes, it is she!"

And he bounded towa