ficient
guard. On the shore some fragments of broken boxes and packing cases
appeared; and a sailor pointed out the European lettering painted on
one--sse de B---. It plainly was part of the address to the Comtesse de
Bourke. This encouraged the party in their search. They ascended the
path which poor Hebert and Lanty Callaghan had so often painfully
climbed, and found themselves before the square of reed hovels, also
deserted, but with black marks where fires had been lighted, and with
traces of recent habitation.

Arthur picked up a rag of the Bourke livery, and another of a brocade
which he had seen the poor Countess wearing. Was this all the relic that
he should ever be able to take to her husband?

He peered about anxiously in hopes of discovering further tokens, and Mr.
Bullock was becoming impatient of his lingering, when suddenly his eye
was struck by a score on the bark of a chestnut tree like a cross, cut
with a feeble hand. Beneath, close to the trunk, was a stone, beyond the
corner of which appeared a bit of paper. He pounced upon it. It was the
title-page of Estelle's precious Telemaque, and on the back was written
in French, If any good Christian ever finds this, I pray him to carry it
to M. the French Consul at Algiers. We are five poor prisoners, the Abbe
de St. Eudoce, Estelle, daughter of the Comte de Bourke, and our
servants, Jacques Hebert, Laurent Callaghan, Victorine Renouf. The
Cabeleyzes are taking us away to their mountains. We are in slavery, in
hunger, filth, and deprivation of all things. We pray day and night that
the good God will send some one to rescue us, for we are in great misery,
and they persecute us to make us deny our faith. O, whoever you may be,
come and deliver us while we are yet alive.'

Arthur was almost choked with tears as he translated this piteous letter
to the lieutenant, and recollected the engaging, enthusiastic little
maiden, as he had seen her on the Rhone, but now brought to such a state.
He implored Mr. Bullock to pursue the track up the mountain, and was
grieved at this being treated as absurdly impossible, but then
recollecting himself, 'You could not, sir, but I might follow her and
make them understand that she must be saved--'

'And give them another captive,' said Bullock; 'I thought you had had
enough of that. You will do more good to this flame of yours--'

'No flame, sir. She is a mere child, little older than her brother. But
she must