ce she had been
removed to the privateer. Julia had in vain endeavored to console her;
and rightly judging that it would be better to allow her grief to have
full vent, she had for several days done little but to see to all her
wants, and whisper an occasional word of cheerfulness and
encouragement. She determined, however, on this morning to make
another attempt to console the unfortunate girl.

"My dear Florette," said she, "why do you so continually mourn; all
that has happened cannot now be remedied."

"I know it, lady."

"Then do not weep, Florette, you shall once more see your native
France; and you will be happy again."

"O, never, never! I have lost all that could make me happy!"

"You have been unfortunate, Florette, but you have not been guilty."

"Alas! I have been guilty; it is that which grieves me now more than
aught else. No, I should have died rather than have suffered myself to
become the pirate's mistress."

"Yet you were compelled, Florette."

"Ah! lady, _you_ would not have been compelled; you would have sooner
died--would you not?"

The flashing eye of Julia, and the warm flush that covered her cheek
and neck, answered the poor girl. She would not trust herself to
answer in words.

"I see you would, dear lady--and so should I have done. No, I am
guilty. I could have saved my honor in the arms of death; the pirate's
dirk lay on the table in my cabin--that would have saved me; the deep,
deep sea was all around me--there, too, I might have found an
honorable safety."

"My dear Florette, do not think of these things now. You are sorry for
the past, whether you have done a great wrong, or a small, it is
certainly not one which the good God cannot forgive."

"But the world will not; and, lady, I loved the pirate-captain; harsh
as he was to all else, to me he was kind--and now he is dead. O!
William, William!"

"Do not weep for him, Florette."

"I will try not to any more; but, lady, I shall never be happy again.
I shall never again see the hills of sunny France. I feel that I shall
not--but I will weep no more. I never close my eyes but the form of
William appears to me. Last night I saw him. Oh! 'twas a fearful
dream; he seemed to me to rise from the ocean, close beside this brig,
and standing on the blue water, he spoke to me, as I gazed from this
cabin-window.

"'Come, Florette,' said he, 'come with me to our home in the deep;
beautiful are its coral chambers, and its floors are st