love; will you not excuse it on account of its motive?"

Miss Lydia looked at him with an air of great dignity, and turning to
the sailor, inquired when the schooner would reach port.

"The day after to-morrow," said he, "if the wind holds."

"I wish Ajaccio were in sight already, for I am sick of this ship."
She rose, took her maid's arm, and walked a few paces on the deck. Orso
stood motionless beside the helm, not knowing whether he had better walk
beside her, or end a conversation which seemed displeasing to her.

"Blood of the Madonna, what a handsome girl!" said the sailor. "If every
flea in my bed were like her, I shouldn't complain of their biting me!"

Miss Lydia may possibly have overheard this artless praise of her beauty
and been startled by it; for she went below almost immediately. Shortly
after Orso also retired. As soon as he had left the deck the maid
reappeared, and, having cross-questioned the sailor, carried back the
following information to her mistress. The _ballata_ which had been
broken off on Orso's appearance had been composed on the occasion of
the death of his father, Colonel della Rebbia, who had been murdered two
years previously. The sailor had no doubt at all that Orso was coming
back to Corsica _per fare la vendetta_, such was his expression, and he
affirmed that before long there would be _fresh meat_ to be seen in
the village of Pietranera. This national expression, being interpreted,
meant that Signor Orso proposed to murder two or three individuals
suspected of having assassinated his father--individuals who had,
indeed, been prosecuted on that account, but had come out of the trial
as white as snow, for they were hand and glove with the judges, lawyers,