e to say, she is
nearly a blonde, with large blue eyes, so very blue that--fringed with
lashes that cast a shade over the cheek--they seem almost black. Then,
too, that low, pure forehead, with great plaits of hair going round and
round her elegant head like a golden turban, and thin hoops of rings
quivering in the pearl-tipped ears. Tall and waving in figure, as
maidens are; with slim, arched feet, dimpled at the ankle; and round,
tapering fingers too, with a wrist so plump and soft that no manacles of
bracelets could press it without slipping off the ivory hand. Dressed
she was in a light mousseline, coyly cowering in loose folds around her
budding bosom to the slender waist, where, clasped by a simple buckle of
mother-o'-pearl, it fell flowing in gauzy, floating waves to her feet.
Look at her, my gallants, for she is Rosalie!

"They are coming to-day, my aunt; and Uncle Jules says that our dear old
Captain Blunt has just arrived at Kingston, and is coming with them."

"What else, my daughter?"

The girl held a letter before her face, maybe to hide a little blush
which suffused her cheeks.

"Why, mamma, he writes that the spring-cart, with Banou, was to start
overnight with the 'traps'--that means trunks, I suppose--and that--"

"What, Rosalie?"

"That there is a handsome young officer, the nephew of Commodore
Cleveland--_merci_, mamma! some of Uncle Jules's nonsense!"

No such great nonsense, after all, mademoiselle, when your uncle Piron
tells you to keep that fluttering little heart safe within your bodice,
for there are thieves in blue jackets in the island of Jamaica. Strange,
too, as she spoke--with her animated face, large blue eyes, and
graceful, wavy figure--how much she resembled both those lovely women,
with their darker coloring, who sat smiling sweetly upon her.

"Oh! here comes Uncle Banou. Well, my good Banou, what news of your
master?" said Madame Piron, as she put out her hand to the black, who
raised it respectfully to his lips.

"He will be here with his friends at sunset, eh! And Mademoiselle
Rosalie must place the gentlemen's things in their rooms, and see that
the billiard-house has some cots made ready in it."

"Nothing more?"

"No, madame."

"_Allons!_ Rosalie, we have no time to lose."

Winding through the mazes of the tropical forest, over the broken stony
road, leading through a brilliant labyrinth of wild fig and acacia,
plume-like palms, white shafts of silk and cotton, and