for she was sustained by the
thought that to her Desclieux had entrusted his precious charge. The
fight commenced; the ship fired eight cannon on the chebeck; and it
was time, for already the captain had boarded the French ship, but
was immediately cut down by Desclieux's axe. A last discharge of guns
on each side, and the firing ceased. The pirate felt its inferiority
and retreated, while the conquerors continued their course.

Two hours of torturing suspense had passed since the terrible
awakening, which but served to make the feeling of restored security
the more delightful, and the remainder of the night was spent in
relating the events of the rencontre. Louisa's was not the least
interesting: she had been regardless of danger during the combat,
while watching over her charge; then she took it to Desclieux, who
admired her the more--loved her the more; for courage, always
beautiful, has a still greater charm when displayed by a woman.

It was a lovely morning, the sun was unusually bright and warm, and
Desclieux left the plant on deck, the glass frame half raised to
admit the fresh air and reviving heat, while he, with Louisa and her
parents, sat near and enjoyed seeing it expand its pretty leaves,
and, as it were, smilingly greet the sun's rays, which infused into
it such genial warmth, and seeming to thank them for their care. But
Desclieux's brow now kindled with higher thoughts. In this feeble
offset he saw the pretty little starry flowers, then the perfumed
berries, and the negroes gathering it abundantly, and then the ocean
bearing vessels to France laden, with its produce. All this he could
see in the few small leaves scarcely aboveground. Enthusiastically
did he tell these bright visions to Louisa, and as she kindled in her
turn, the coffee-plant became dearer and dearer to her, and she
lavished as tender care upon it as she would upon a newborn brother.
She seemed to have common sympathies with it, and if she felt that
the heat might be too much for its slender stem, she drew over it
little curtains of green silk which she had made expressly for it,
just as a tender mother curtains the cradle of her infant. And then
she read to Desclieux and her parents a long account of the coffee
of Mocha, and pictured vividly to their imagination the tree to grow
out of the nursling whose infancy they watched over. Sometimes the
conversation took a different turn, and the parents of Louisa spoke,
as if to an old famil