n the plantations, when you
and I and M. le Griseur know her own hair is getting thinner than she
would wish a certain Colonel to guess. There! the pretty dear, what a
baby she looks! I will tie her on a cowl, lest she should take cold on
the river. See these rings. Did you Lady give no charge about them?"

"I had forgot!" said the waiting-woman, confused; "she charged me to
bring them back, old family jewels, she said, that must not be carried
off to foreign parts; but I cannot, cannot do it. To rob that pretty
creature in her sleep."

"Never fear. She'll soon have a store much finer than these! You fool, I
tell you she will not wake these six or eight hours. Afraid? There,
I'll do it! Ho! A ruby? A love-token, I wager; and what's this? A carved
Cupid. I could turn a pretty penny by that, when your lady finds
it convenient, and her luck at play goes against her. Eh! is this a
wedding-ring? Best take that off; Mr. Van Draagen might not understand
it, you see. Here they are. Have you a patch-box handy for them in your
pocket? Why what ails the woman? You may thank your stars there's some
one here with her wits about her! None of your whimpering, I say, her
comes Captain Karen."

Two seafaring men here came up the garden path, the foremost small and
dapper, with a ready address and astute countenance. "All right, Mother
Darkness, is our consignment ready? Aye, aye! And the freight?"

"This lady has it," said Mrs. Darke, pointing to Loveday; "I have been
telling her she need have no fears for her young kinswoman in your
hands, Captain."

He swore a round oath to that effect, and looking at the sleeping
maiden, again swore that she was the choicest piece of goods ever
confided to him, and that he knew better than let such an article arrive
damaged. Mr. Van Draagen ought to come down handsomely for such an extra
fine sample; but in the meantime he accepted the rouleau of guineas
that Loveday handed to him, the proceeds, as she told Mrs. Darke, of my
Lady's winnings last night at loo.

All was ready. Poor Aurelia was swathed from head to foot in a large
mantle, like the chrysalis whose name she bore, the two sailors took her
up between them, carried her to their boat, and laid her along in the
stern. Then they pushed off and rowed down the river. Loveday looked up
and looked down, then sank on the steps, convulsed with grief, sobbing
bitterly. "She said He could deliver her from the mouth of lions! And
He has not," she