in my
voyage-book! It's the----"

At that moment, a gesture from her companion caused her to turn and
look behind her. There, only a few feet from where they were standing,
but with his back to them, was the Count, sitting on one of the long,
stationary benches fastened against the hatchway, while just at his
knees stood little Cecilia. She was balancing herself with some
difficulty on the gently swaying deck, holding out for his acceptance
a small bunch of violets, which one of the market-women at Gibraltar
had bestowed upon her.

As he appeared to hesitate: "_Prendili!_" she cried, with pretty
wilfulness. Upon which he took the little offering, and lifted it to
his face.

The child stood her ground resolutely, and presently, "Put me up!" she
commanded, still in her own sweet tongue.

Obediently he lifted her, and placed her beside him on the seat, where
she sat clinging with one little hand to the sleeve of his coat to
keep from slipping down, with the gentle dip of the vessel.

The two sat, for a few minutes, quite silent, gazing off toward the
African coast, and Blythe and her companion drew nearer, filled with
curiosity as to the outcome of the interview.

Presently the child looked up into the Count's face and inquired, with
the pretty Tuscan accent which sounded like an echo of his own
question on the evening of the dance:

"What is thy name?"

"Giovanni Battista Allamiraviglia."

Cecilia repeated after him the long, musical name, without missing a
syllable, and with a certain approving inflection which evidently had
an ingratiating effect upon the many-syllabled aristocrat; for he
lifted his carefully gloved hand and passed it gently over the little
head.

The child took the caress very naturally, and when, presently, the
hand returned to the knee, she got possession of it, and began
crossing the kid fingers one over the other, quite undisturbed by the
fact that they invariably fell apart again as soon as she loosed her
hold.

At this juncture the two eavesdroppers moved discreetly away, and
Blythe, leaving her fellow-conspirator far behind, flew to her
mother's side, crying:

"O Mumsey! She's simply winding him round her finger, and there's
nothing he won't be ready to do for us now!"

"Yes, dear; I'm delighted to hear it," Mrs. Halliday replied, with
what Blythe was wont to call her "benignant and amused" expression.
"And after a while you will tell me what you are talking about!"

But Bly