you exhibit in an unfortunate prisoner--for that, I suppose, is
what I am--"

"No, senor, oh no; you are quite mistaken!" interjected my companion.
"At least," she corrected herself, "you are mistaken in the character of
your imprisonment. That you certainly are a prisoner, in a sense, is
quite true; but I hope--that is, I--do--not think--you will find your
imprisonment very intolerable."

"All imprisonment, whatever its character, must be intolerable, it seems
to me," I grumbled. Then, checking myself, I exclaimed: "But do not let
us talk about myself. Do you mind telling me who you are? Your face
seems familiar to me, somehow, yet I am certain that I have never before
seen you. Are you, by any chance, Captain Ricardo's daughter?"

The girl's face clouded somewhat as she answered: "No; oh no, I am not
Captain Ricardo's daughter! I am an orphan; I have never known what it
is to have either father or mother, and I am a prisoner--like yourself,
yet I do not find my state by any means intolerable. Captain Ricardo
has been kindness itself to me, indeed he could not have been more kind
to me had I really been his daughter."

"Ah," said I, "I am glad to hear it, for your sake! He seems a strange
man, a very curious commingling of good and evil traits of character--
kind and gentle to you--and, thus far, to me--yet relentlessly cruel and
bloodthirsty in the prosecution of his accursed calling. And your name,
senorita, will you not tell me that?"

"Oh, yes, certainly! Why should I not?" answered my companion. "I am
called Lotta--Carlotta Josefa Candelaria Dolores de Guzman. And your
name is Dick, is it not?"

"Why, certainly it is!" I exclaimed. "But how in the world did you
know that?"

"Because," she answered, "when you were brought ashore yesterday,
Captain Ricardo sent for me, and said: `This young fellow is Dick
Grenvile, the son of a once very dear friend of mine; and I want you,
Lotta, and Mammy, to do your utmost to nurse him back to health and
strength again.'"

"And you and Mammy have been doing so with marvellously satisfactory
results," said I. "And that, I suppose, accounts for the fact of your
face seeming familiar to me; I probably saw you once or twice during my
delirium?"

"Yes," she admitted, "you certainly did see me--once or twice."

"Well, Lotta--I suppose I may call you Lotta, may I not? Senorita
sounds so very formal, does it not?" I suggested.

"Oh, yes, certainly!" assente