ing the truth of her
assertion, it would have been dispelled by her subsequent conduct, for
she buried her face in a handkerchief and burst into tears.

"Beloved, adorable, tender, delicious Maraquita," were words which leapt
into the lieutenant's mind, but he dare not utter them with his lips.
Neither did he venture to clasp Maraquita's waist with his left arm, lay
her pretty little head on his breast and smooth her luxuriant hair with
his right hand, though he felt almost irresistibly tempted so to do--
entirely from feelings of pity, of course,--for the Senhorina had
hitherto permitted no familiarities beyond a gentle pressure of the hand
on meeting and at parting.

It is unnecessary to repeat all that the bashful, though ardent, man of
war said to Maraquita, or all that Maraquita said to the man of war;
how, ignoring the celestial orbs and domestic economy, she launched out
into a rhapsodical panegyric of Azinte; told how the poor slave had
unburdened her heart to her about her handsome young husband and her
darling little boy in the far off interior, from whom she had been
rudely torn, and whom she never expected to see again; and how she,
Maraquita, had tried to console Azinte by telling her that there was a
heaven where good people might hope to meet again, even though they
never met on earth, and a great deal more besides, to all of which the
earnest lieutenant sought to find words wherewith to express his pity
and sympathy, but found them not, though he was at no loss to find words
to tell the queen of his soul that, in the peculiar circumstances of the
case, and all things considered, his love for her (Maraquita) was
tenfold more intense than it had ever been before!

"Foolish boy," said the Senhorina, smiling through her tears, "what is
the use of telling me that? Can it do any good to Azinte?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," replied the lieutenant. "Well, then, don't talk
nonsense, but tell me what I am to do to recover my little maid."

"It is impossible for me to advise," said the lieutenant with a
perplexed look.

"But you _must_ advise," said Maraquita, with great decision.

"Well, I will try. How long is it since Azinte was taken away from
you?"

"About two weeks."

"You say that Marizano was the purchaser. Do you know to what part of
the coast he intended to convey her?"

"How should I know? I have only just heard of the matter from my
father."

"Well then, you must try to find out from you