man might as well be dead at once,
or mad, or a man, as have cropped hair during all the days of her
youth.' I had a fellow-feeling, you see! I have magnificent hair myself,
child, as Clayton well knows, for it is her chief trouble on earth, and
I would almost as lief die as lose it."

"Yes, indeed, Lady Anastasia's hair is one of her chief attractions,"
observed the sympathizing Clayton, behind her chair.

"So Sir Harry Raymond thought, my dear "--addressing me--"when I married
him, ten years ago; and so somebody else thinks just now, for I am tired
of my widowhood, and intend taking on the conjugal yoke again as soon as
I reach--"

"New York," interpolated Mrs. Clayton, hastily and emphatically;
clearing her throat slightly, by way of apology, perhaps, for her
officiousness.

"And you shall stand bridesmaid, my dear. Yes, I am determined on it; so
never make great eyes at me. There is a little bit of romance about me
that will strike out in spite of all my worldliness; and it will be so
pretty to have an 'ocean-waif for an attendant--it will read so well in
the papers! I suppose, when you reach your friends, there will be no
difficulty about a dress, and all that sort of thing, meet for the
occasion--a very splendid one, I assure you--conducted without regard
to expense; for my _fiance_ is very rich, I hear, and my own jointure
was a liberal one."

"You do me a great honor," I murmured, conventionally rebelling inwardly
at the suggestion.

"Oh, not at all!" was the gracious rejoinder. "I see at a glance, in
spite of your misfortunes, that you are one of us, which is not what I
say to everybody. True blood will show under all circumstances, though
there is such an improvement. Did any one ever see the like before? Why,
my dear, you were blistered and black when we picked you up, and
afterward sienna-colored; now you are almost a beauty!"

"I am better--much better, and have a great deal to be thankful for, I
feel," I contented myself with murmuring.

"Of course you have. It was just a chance with you between our ship and
death, you know. By-the-by, what name shall we give our
'treasure-trove?'"

"Miriam for the present, if you please. This is no time nor place for
ceremony."

"Well, Miriam it shall be," she repeated with laughing eyes (hers were
of that sort which close and grow Chinese under the pressure of
merriment and high cheekbones combined). "Miriam, I like the name--there
is something grand about