en
redeemed from their load of debt, and now he enjoys a noble income--or,
rather, he spends nothing on himself, but devotes it to widows and
orphans, and sick or worn-out sailors.

"In the seventeen years which have gone by since he brought his child to
me he has made several visits of a month or two's duration to the
plantations, but only when Henry was on leave from duty. Then it was a
pleasant sight to see them both together, and the touching air of
affection which bound the youth to his father. Henry, from a child,
often went and prayed beside the grave under the magnolias, and to this
day he believes that his own mother lies buried there. Perhaps it is as
well that he should cherish this early belief; for I may tell you in
confidence, Piron, that we believe there at home that he is the
illegitimate offspring of some erring passion of Darcantel, though none
of us have ever learned it positively from his father's lips. He is not
a person to be questioned by any one, not even by me; and as he seems
anxious to throw a thick veil over the past, we never venture to draw it
aside.

"When, however, I was appointed to my present command, Darcantel
desired to sail with me, and see the West India Islands, which he had
not visited for an age. I was only too happy to have him, especially as
Harry there--whom I love like a father--was named to the little
schooner he had cut out in Africa on his last cruise, and ordered to
join my squadron. But whenever we get into port his father goes
quietly on shore; passes his time, I think, among the sailors of the
foreign shipping, spending money freely among the deserving, and
again coming back in his calm, stern way. He told me, however, Piron,
yesterday, that perhaps he might accept your kind invitation to come
up here, though not for some days. By George!" said the commodore,
"that must be Escondido!"

Piron sighed as if a pleasant dream had vanished.

CHAPTER XLI.

INSTINCT AND WONDER.

"'Ho! sailor of the sea!
How's my boy--my boy?'
'What's your boy's name, good wife,
And in what good ship sailed he?'"

"Through the night, through the night,
In the saddest unrest,
Wrapped in white, all in white,
With her babe on her breast,
Walks the mother so pale,
Staring out on the gale,
Through the night!"

As the cavalcade trotted round the curve of the peak, and then walked
the cattle down the steep zigzag