.

Maria, though for a time speechless, was speedily, through the exertions
of her deliverer, restored to consciousness. Even before she was capable
of thanking him or of speaking to him--yea, before her eyes had opened
to meet his--he had gazed with admiration on her beautiful features,
which were lovely, though the shadow of death was then over them, almost
its hand upon them. In truth, he had never gazed upon a fairer face, and
when she spoke, he had never listened to a sweeter or a gentler voice.
He had been beneath an Indian sun, where the impulses of the heart are
fervid as the clime, and where, when the sun is gazed upon, its
influence is acknowledged. But, had she been less beautiful than she
was, and her features less lovely to look upon, there was a strong
something in the very manner and accident of their being brought into
each other's society, which appealed more powerfully to the heart than
beauty could. It at least begot an interest in the fate of each other;
and an interest so called is never very widely separated from affection.
The individual who had saved Maria's life was Lieutenant Morris.

He conveyed her first to a peasant's cottage, and afterwards to her
father's villa. He knew nothing of the feeling of hatred that existed
between their families; and when Mr. Sim heard his name, though for a
moment it caused a glow to pass over his face, every other emotion was
speedily swallowed up in gratitude towards the deliverer of his child;
and when Maria was sufficiently recovered to thank him, though she knew
him to be the son of her father's enemy, it was with tears too deep for
words--tears that told what eloquence would have failed to express. Even
Mrs. Sim, for the time, forgot her hatred of the parents in her
obligations to the son.

When, however, the young lieutenant returned to Morris House, and made
mention of the adventure in which he had been engaged, and spoke at the
same time, in the ardour of youthful admiration, of the beauty and
gentleness of the fair being he had rescued from untimely death, the
cheeks of his sisters became pale, their eyeballs distended as if with
horror. The word "wretch!" escaped from his mother's lips, and she
seemed struggling with smothered rage. He turned towards his father for
an explanation of the change that had so suddenly come over the
behaviour of his mother and sisters.

"Son," said the squire, "I had rather thou hadst perished than that a
son of mine sh