self and father to the headlands some evening. She assented. The old
sailor had a friend visiting at his house, an old ex-sea-captain like
himself, and the four decided to make the voyage across the little bay
and sit for an hour on the rocky promontory and listen to the "dashing
waves." Fernando willingly welcomed the acquaintance as a fourth to the
party, for he was shrewd enough to see that the old sailors would be so
wholly engrossed with each other, that they would scarcely notice the
young people, and Morgianna and he would be left quite to themselves.

Fernando, though an amateur at the oar, would on no account be dissuaded
from rowing the small boat to the promontory; and, having helped
Morgianna, who was lightest, into a seat in the bow (inexpressible
happiness) he cheerfully took his seat at the oars with the old men in
the stern facing each other. Then the little craft was cast loose, and
the young westerner bent to his oars and sent the boat swiftly through
the water. Of course Fernando's back was toward Morgianna, and he could
not see her, save when he twisted his head "quite off," which he did
frequently; but he could hear her silvery voice humming snatches of a
song, or her dimpled hand playing in the phosphorescent water which
sparkled like flashes of fire in their wake. The old men kept up a
continual talk, for which Fernando was exceedingly grateful. Finally the
promontory was gained, and in a quiet little cove Fernando beached his
boat and, springing out, took the small, white hand of Morgianna and
assisted her to the dry sands, so gallantly that her dainty little
slippered foot did not touch the water.

Then the whole party ascended the hill to the opposite side of the
promontory where the sea was beating furiously. Fernando was almost
beside himself with joy to find Morgianna clinging to his arm in the
ascent, and to hear her sweet voice in low, gentle tones breathing in
his ear. It was a fine, clear night, and for all her lowness of spirits,
Morgianna kept looking up at the stars in a manner so bewitching that
Fernando was clear out of his senses, and plainly showed that, if ever a
man were over head and ears in love, that man was himself. The path they
were ascending was quite steep, and Fernando could not help glancing at
the pretty little hand, encased in a cream-colored kid glove, resting on
his arm. If Fernando had known that an executioner were behind him with
an axe raised, ready to cut off