ces and petitions the only reply was that the king's service
required his continual residence in his department. Botello was not a
man to quietly submit to such unjust restraint; but unluckily his health
began to fail. His body found itself unable to withstand the chafings
and struggles of his energetic and adventurous spirit under the
mortifications and disappointments of his position; the fears and
suspicions of the court of Lisbon were soon removed by his death. His
boat had been burned--his companions had been sent back to India, and it
was not long before the fact of his extraordinary voyage had passed from
the public mind.

A STORY WITHOUT A NAME[L]

WRITTEN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MONTHLY MAGAZINE

BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.

_Continued from page 494, vol. II._

CHAPTER XVIII.

It was long ere Emily Hastings slept. There was a bright moonlight; but
she sat not up by the window, looking out at the moon in love-lorn
guise. No, she laid her down in bed, as soon as the toilet of the night
was concluded, and having left the window-shutters open, the light of
the sweet, calm brightener of the night poured in a long, tranquil ray
across the floor. She watched it, with her head resting on her hand for
a long time. Her fancy was very busy with it, as by slow degrees it
moved its place, now lying like a silver carpet by her bedside, now
crossing the floor far away, and painting the opposite wall. Her
thoughts then returned to other things, and whether she would or not,
Marlow took a share in them. She remembered things that he had said, his
looks came back to her mind, she seemed to converse with him again,
running over in thought all that had passed in the morning.

She was no castle-builder; there were no schemes, plans, designs, in her
mind; no airy structures of future happiness employed fancy as their
architect. She was happy in her own heart; and imagination, like a bee,
extracted sweetness from the flowers of the present.

Sweet Emily, how beautiful she looked, as she lay there, and made a
night-life for herself in the world of her own thoughts!

She could not sleep, she knew not why. Indeed, she did not wish or try
to sleep. She never did when sleep did not come naturally; but always
remained calmly waiting for the soother, till slumber dropped uncalled
and stilly upon her eyelids.

One hour--two hours--the moonbeam had retired far into a corner of the
room, the household was all still; there was no