ed--with a gush of pity, or something
of that sort--to smooth it away. But he had too much delicacy of
feeling as well as common sense to offer his services just then.

"Oh, sir!" exclaimed the girl, in perfect English, as she hastily threw
a thin gauze veil over her face, "forgive me! I did not know you were
here--else--my veil--but why should _I_ mind such customs? You are an
Englishman, I think?"

Foster did not feel quite sure at that moment whether he was English,
Irish, Scotch, or Dutch, so he looked foolish and said--

"Y-yes."

"I knew it. I was sure of it! Oh! I am _so_ glad!" exclaimed the
girl, clasping her delicate little hands together and bursting into
tears.

This was such a very unexpected climax, and so closely resembled the
conduct of a child, that it suddenly restored our midshipman to
self-possession. Stepping quickly forward, he took one of the girl's
hands in his, laid his other hand on her shoulder, and said--

"Don't cry, my poor child! If I can help you in any way, I'll be only
too glad; but pray don't, _don't_ cry so."

"I--I--can't help it," sobbed the girl, pulling away her hand--not on
account of propriety, by any means: that never entered her young head--
but for the purpose of searching for a kerchief in a pocket that was
_always_ undiscoverable among bewildering folds. "If--if--you only knew
how long, _long_ it is since I heard an English--(where _is_ that
_thing_!)--an English voice, you would not wonder. And my father, my
dear, dear, darling father--I have not heard of him for--for--"

Here the poor thing broke down again and sobbed aloud, while the
midshipman looked on, imbecile and helpless. "Pray, _don't_ cry," said
Foster again earnestly. "Who are you? where did you come from? Who and
where is your father? Do tell me, and how I can help you, for we may be
interrupted?"

This last remark did more to quiet the girl than anything else he had
said.

"You are right," she replied, drying her eyes quickly. "And, do you
know the danger you run if found conversing with me?"

"No--not great danger, I hope?"

"The danger of being scourged to death, perhaps," she replied.

"Then pray _do_ be quick, for I'd rather not get such a whipping--even
for _your_ sake!"

"But our owner is not cruel," continued the girl. "He is kind--"

"Owner! Is he not, then, your husband?"

"Oh, no. He says he is keeping me for his son, who is away on a long
voyage. I have never