tled by the sudden apparition, the Indians lost, for a time, their
self-control, and the sailors found it easy to subdue them.

Luiz had flown at once to Lianor's side, clasping her frail form
tightly in his arms, while Panteleone wrenched Savitre from her aunt,
as she was about to fling her on the now burning pile.

Even at the same moment, Satzavan, a smile of revengeful triumph on
his face, wound a thick scarf over Konmia's head, and threw her with
remorseless force into the flames, leaving her to meet the fate
destined for his sister.

Those Indians who had not been taken had fled; so the band was free to
wend its way homeward, though nearly half had been killed in the
strife.

Still holding Lianor, now weeping quietly, in his arms, Luiz led the
way towards the road, where the palanquin stood, and placing the girl
gently in, raised her white hands passionately to his lips.

"Lianor, Lianor, my own darling!" he murmured, gazing into her pallid
face with lovelit eyes. "If I had been too late, and found you gone!"

Lianor smiled tremulously through her tears, and a blush mantled to
her cheeks.

"You have saved my life. I can never repay you," earnestly.

Panteleone, still pale and anxious, now appeared leading the little
widow, who seemed overjoyed at her release. She sank down gladly
beside Lianor, and then the palanquin was borne away, guarded by Luiz
and Panteleone, Satzavan walking behind.

Don Garcia's delight knew no bounds when he saw the procession
entering the palace gates, and he ran eagerly to receive his daughter.

"My loved child! How unwise I was to let you go, to send you into
danger," he cried, carrying her in his arms from the palanquin to the
marble hall. "If it had not been for our young friend, Falcam, I
should never have seen you again."

"But, papa, think! If we had not gone, this poor girl would have been
burnt to death," Lianor said, shudderingly, drawing Savitre towards
her.

"Ah, yes. Poor child!" stroking the young widow's glossy black hair.
"Now tell me all about it." "Not yet, papa. Let us go and arrange our
dresses; mine is torn completely to pieces," laughingly holding up a
fragment of cashmere, which in the struggle had become torn.

Holding Savitre's hand in hers, Lianor went swiftly to her rooms,
where they could bathe their weary limbs in cool water, and change
their tattered robes.

CHAPTER II.

Don Garcia was sitting in his study, regarding with some anxie