have read in his voice, his features, and his words, the accent, the
bearing, the language of love.

The lady was a gentle being of surpassing beauty, with black eyes, jetty
hair and brilliant complexion; there was little of the characteristics
of the East in her appearance, though she seemed to be quite at home
beneath the Indian Sun. She was of the middle height, perhaps a little
too slender and delicate in form to meet a painter's idea of perfection,
but yet just such an idol as a poet would have worshipped. She was
strikingly handsome, and there was a brilliancy and spirit in the glance
of her dark eyes that told of much character, and much depth of feeling;
and while you gazed at her now, sitting beneath the broad piazza, you
would have detected a shadow ever and anon cross her brow, as though the
words of him by her side aroused some unpleasant memory, and diverted
her thoughts rather to past scenes than to the consideration of his
immediate remarks.

The gentleman who seemed to be pleading an unsuccessful suit, wore the
undress uniform of the English navy, and in the outer harbor, in view of
the very spot where they sat, there rode a sloop-of-war with St.
George's cross floating at her peak. The officer was young, but bore the
insignia of his rank upon his person, which showed him to be the captain
of yonder proud vessel. He might have been five or six and twenty, but
scarcely more, and bore about him those unmistakable tokens of gentle
birth which will shine through the coarsest as well as the finest
attire. The lady was not regarding him now; her eyes were bent on the
distant sea, but still he pleaded, still urged in gentle tones the suit
he brought.

"I see, Miss Huntington has some more favored swain on whom to bestow