me of being the murderer
of both their parents, drew their rapiers to assassinate me. My wife
and child, hearing the noise, came down to my assistance--you know the
rest."

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

IN WHICH OUR HERO IS BROUGHT UP ALL STANDING UNDER A PRESS OF SAIL.

Our limits will not permit us to relate all that passed during our
hero's stay of a fortnight at Don Rebiera's. He and Gascoigne were
treated as if they were his own sons, and the kindness of the female
part of the family was equally remarkable. Agnes, naturally perhaps,
showed a preference or partiality for Jack: to which Gascoigne willingly
submitted, as he felt that our hero had a prior and stronger claim, and
during the time that they remained a feeling of attachment was created
between Agnes and the philosopher, which, if not love, was at least
something very near akin to it; but the fact was, that they were both
much too young to think of marriage; and, although they walked and
talked, and laughed, and played together, they were always at home in
time for their dinner. Still, the young lady thought she preferred our
hero even to her brothers, and Jack thought that the young lady was the
prettiest and kindest girl that he had ever met with. At the end of the
fortnight our two midshipmen took their leave, furnished with letters of
recommendation to many of the first nobility in Palermo, and mounted on
two fine mules with bell bridles. The old Donna kissed them both--the
Don showered down his blessings of good wishes, and Donna Agnes's lips
trembled as she bade them adieu; and, as soon as they were gone, she
went up to her chamber and wept. Jack also was very grave, and his eyes
moistened at the thoughts of leaving Agnes. Neither of them were aware,
until the hour of parting, how much they had wound themselves together.

The first quarter of an hour our two midshipmen followed their guide in
silence. Jack wished to be left to his own thoughts, and Gascoigne
perceived it.

"Well, Easy," said Gascoigne, at last, "if I had been in your place,
constantly in company of, and loved by, that charming girl, I could
never have torn myself away."

"Loved by her, Ned!" replied Jack; "what makes you say that?"

"Because I am sure it was the case; she lived but in your presence.
Why, if you were out of the room, she never spoke a word, but sat there
as melancholy as a sick monkey--the moment you came in again she beamed
out as glorious as the sun, and