one; "but that you have it, in any manner, to justify
your imprudence, I must continue to doubt until confronted by proof."

"I had thought to have made a very different use of this," returned
Ludlow, drawing a letter,--we admit it with some reluctance in one so
simple and so manly,--from his bosom: "and even now, I take shame in
producing it, though at your own orders.

"Some magic has wrought a marvel, or the scrawl has no such importance,"
observed Alida, taking a billet that she now began to repent having ever
written. "The language of politeness and female reserve must admit of
strange perversions, or all who read are not the best interpreters."

La belle Barberie ceased speaking, for the instant her eye fell on the
paper, an absorbing and intense curiosity got the better of her
resentment. We shall give the contents of the letter, precisely in the
words which caused so much amazement, and possibly some little uneasiness,
to the fair creature who was perusing it.

"The life of a seaman," said the paper, in a delicate and beautiful female
hand, "is one of danger and exposure. It inspires confidence in woman, by
the frankness to which it gives birth, and it merits indulgence by its
privations. She who writes this, is not insensible to the merit of men of
this bold calling. Admiration for the sea, and for those who live on it
has been her weakness through life; and her visions of the future, like
her recollections of the past, are not entirely exempt from a
contemplation of its pleasures. The usages of different nations--glory in
arms--change of scene--with constancy in the affections, all sweetened by
affluence, are temptations too strong for a female imagination, and they
should not be without their influence on the judgment of man. Adieu."

This note was read, re-perused, and for the third time conned, ere Alida
ventured to raise her eyes to the face of the expectant young man.

"And this indelicate and unfeminine rhapsody, Captain Ludlow has seen
proper to ascribe to me!" she said, while her voice trembled between pride
and mortification.

"To whom else can I impute it? No other, lovely Alida, could utter
language so charming, in words so properly chosen."

The long lashes of the maiden played quickly above their dark organs, and
then, conquering feelings that were strangely in contradiction to each
other, she said with dignity, turning to a little ebony escritoire which
lay beside her dressing-box--

"My