r, some
say, to the Duke. At least, she enjoys the repute of knowing all his
secret intrigues and adventures."

"The Duke!" said my father, musing; and, suddenly calling to mind his
pledge, he drew nigh to the binnacle lamp, and, opening his letter,
bent down to read it. A small gold locket fell into his hand, unclasping
which, he beheld the portrait of a beautiful girl of eighteen or
nineteen. She was represented in the act of binding up her hair; and in
the features, the coloring, and the attitude, she seemed the very ideal
of a Grecian statue. In the corner of the paper was written the words,
"Ma Fille," "Philippe d'Orleans."

"Is this possible? can this be real?" cried my father, whose quick
intelligence at once seemed to divine all. The next instant he was at
the door of the cabin, knocking impatiently to get in.

"Do you know this, madam?" cried he, holding out the miniature towards
the Duchess. "Can you tell me aught of this?"

"Is the danger over? Are we safe?" was her exclamation, as she arose
from her knees.

"The wind is abating, madam,--the worst is over; and now to my
question."

"She is yours, sir," said the Duchess, with a deep obeisance. "His
Royal Highnesses orders were, not to leave her till she reached England.
Heaven grant that we are to see that hour! This is Mademoiselle de
Courtois," continued she, as at the same instant the young lady entered
the cabin.

The graceful ease and unaffected demeanor with which she received my
father at once convinced him that she at least knew nothing of the
terrible compact in which she was involved. Habituated as he was to all
the fascinations of beauty, and all the blandishments of manner, there
was something to him irresistibly charming in the artless tone with
which she spoke of her voyage, and all the pleasure she anticipated from
a tour through England.

"You see, sir," said the Duchess, when they were once more alone
together, "Mademoiselle Josephine is a stranger to the position in which
she stands. None could have undertaken the task of breaking it to her.
Let us trust that she is never to know it."

"How so, madam? Do you mean that I am to relinquish my right?" cried my
father.

"Nothing could persuade me that you would insist upon it, sir."

"You are wrong, then, madam," said he, sternly. "To the letter I will
maintain it. Mademoiselle de Courtois is mine; and within twenty-four
hours the law shall confirm my title, for I will make her my w