mering expanse of starry sky
and pearly cloud-wreaths, the figures of the fettered, struggling slaves
stood out in vain and vehement protest against a merciless doom.

The man approached unsteadily along the water side, shouting an English
street song. He was evidently a sailor returning from a carouse at some
tavern. No one else was within sight. As he drew near, Arthur stood up
and stepped into the middle of the roadway. The sailor broke off in his
song with an oath, and stopped short.

"I want to speak to you," Arthur said in Italian. "Do you understand
me?"

The man shook his head. "It's no use talking that patter to me," he
said; then, plunging into bad French, asked sullenly: "What do you want?
Why can't you let me pass?"

"Just come out of the light here a minute; I want to speak to you."

"Ah! wouldn't you like it? Out of the light! Got a knife anywhere about
you?"

"No, no, man! Can't you see I only want your help? I'll pay you for it?"

"Eh? What? And dressed like a swell, too------" The sailor had relapsed
into English. He now moved into the shadow and leaned against the
railing of the pedestal.

"Well," he said, returning to his atrocious French; "and what is it you
want?"

"I want to get away from here----"

"Aha! Stowaway! Want me to hide you? Been up to something, I suppose.
Stuck a knife into somebody, eh? Just like these foreigners! And where
might you be wanting to go? Not to the police station, I fancy?"

He laughed in his tipsy way, and winked one eye.

"What vessel do you belong to?"

"Carlotta--Leghorn to Buenos Ayres; shipping oil one way and hides
the other. She's over there"--pointing in the direction of the
breakwater--"beastly old hulk!"

"Buenos Ayres--yes! Can you hide me anywhere on board?"

"How much can you give?"

"Not very much; I have only a few paoli."

"No. Can't do it under fifty--and cheap at that, too--a swell like you."

"What do you mean by a swell? If you like my clothes you may change with
me, but I can't give you more money than I have got."

"You have a watch there. Hand it over."

Arthur took out a lady's gold watch, delicately chased and enamelled,
with the initials "G. B." on the back. It had been his mother's--but
what did that matter now?

"Ah!" remarked the sailor with a quick glance at it. "Stolen, of course!
Let me look!"

Arthur drew his hand away. "No," he said. "I will give you the watch
when we are on board; not before."

"You're no