escape."

"I had hoped to have lived for you, Enrico," replied Isabel, her head
resting on her lover's shoulder. "I can, at least, die with you."

Dom Maxara entered the cabin, seating himself beside his daughter.
Placing her hand in his, she repeated--

"We can at least die together."

"There is still a little hope," said the anxious father; "the breeze is
freshening, and with it the sea is getting up, disturbing the schooner's
aim. The wind may yet save us. Should it fail us, there is one thing
remaining."

"And what is that, father?"

"As you said, to die together, Isabel, sooner than that a daughter of
the Guzmans of Castillo should become the cast-off slave of a Malay
pirate."

The tears had been standing in Isabel's eyes, and as she now turned them
on her lover, there was a look of ineffable tenderness in the large
black orbs.

"A strange meeting ours has been, Enrico; a strange life we have led
together, living years in weeks; but you were quite as near death, my
promised husband, when first we met, and yet you stand here by my side."

"There is still hope, Isabel; every moment it increases with the rising
sea," replied Hughes.

"Hope or not," continued the excited Isabel, speaking hysterically,
"they shall see that the daughter of sunny Portugal knows how to die.
We shall never tread our dear land again."

The loud thud of the pirate's long eighteen-pounder was here heard, and
all held their breath, listening for the crashing of the timbers, but no
such sound followed.

"And I who thought to show you, Enrico, the vineyards and the orange
blossoms of fair Portugal. It is hard, father, to die so young."

The old noble's face worked convulsively, but his eyes were dry. Isabel
had once more sat down between her father and her lover, her head
resting on his shoulder; but one hand clasped in that of the noble. The
soldier's face wore a sad and dejected appearance; but there was
determination in the firm lines of the closed mouth and contracted brow.

"Isabel, this is foolish. What men could do we will do, and have done.
I would give what remains to me of life that you were not in this ship.
What was a few short hours since the joy and pleasure of my existence,
is now turned to bitterness and grief. We have done all men can do, I
repeat, and, if needs be, we must perish together sooner than that worse
befall us."

Again the loud thud came down on the wind, followed by several sharp
cracks l