any friends in Marseilles?" he asked, in a voice full of
kindly sympathy.

"No," said Zillah, in a mournful voice; "none nearer than Naples."

"I have my family here, ma'am," said Obed. "I am an American and a
gentleman. If you have no friends, would you feel any objection to
stay with us while you are here? My family consists of my sister, two
children, and some servants. We are going to Italy as soon as
possible, and if you have no objection we can take you there with
us--to Naples--to your sister."

Zillah looked up at the large honest face, whose kindly eyes beamed
down upon her with parental pity, and she read in that face the
expression of a noble and loyal nature.

"You are very--very kind," said she, in a faltering voice. "You will
lay me under very great obligations. Yes, Sir, I accept your kind
offer. I shall be only too happy to put myself under your protection.
I will go with you, and may Heaven bless you!"

She held out her hand toward him. Obed Chute took that little hand in
his, but restrained his great strength, and only pressed it lightly.

Meanwhile Windham had come in to congratulate the beautiful girl,
whose face had been haunting him ever since that time when the sun
lighted it up, as it lay amidst its glory of ebon hair upon his
breast. He heard these last words, and stood apart, modestly awaiting
some chance to speak.

Zillah raised her face.

Their eyes met in a long earnest gaze.

Zillah was the first to speak. "You saved me from a fearful fate,"
she said, in low and tremulous tones. "I heard all about it."

Windham said nothing, but bowed in silence.

Zillah rose from her chair, and advanced toward him, her face
expressing strong emotion. Now he saw, for the first time, her
wondrous eyes, in all their magnificence of beauty, with their deep
unfathomable meaning, and their burning intensity of gaze. On the
schooner, while her head lay on his breast, those eyes were closed
in senselessness--now they were fixed on his.

"Will you let me thank you, Sir," she said, in a voice which thrilled
through him in musical vibrations, "for my _life_, which you snatched
from a death of horror? To thank you, is but a cold act. Believe me,
you have my everlasting gratitude."

She held out her hand to Windham. He took it in both of his, and
reverentially raised it to his lips. A heavy sigh burst from him, and
he let it fall.

"Miss Lorton," said he, in his deep musical voice, which now trembled