ur, just before Yoosoof made his
appearance, conversing lightly with his only daughter, the Senhorina
Maraquita, a beautiful brunette of about eighteen summers, who had been
brought up and educated in Portugal.

The Governor's wife had died a year before this time in Madrid, and the
Senhorina had gone to live with her father on the east coast of Africa,
at which place she had arrived just six weeks previous to the date of
the opening of our tale.

Among the various boats and vessels at anchor in the bay, were seen the
tapering masts of a British war-steamer. The Senhorina and her sire
were engaged in a gossiping criticism of the officers of this vessel
when Yoosoof was announced. Audience was immediately granted.

Entering the room, with Azinte close behind him, the Arab stopped
abruptly on beholding Maraquita, and bowed gravely.

"Leave us, my child," said the Governor, in Portuguese; "I have business
to transact with this man."

"And why may not I stay to assist you, father, in this wonderful
man-mystery of transacting business?" asked Maraquita, with an arch
smile.

"Whenever you men want to get rid of women you frighten them away with
_business_! If you wish not to explain something to us, you shake your
wise heads, and call it _business_! Is it not so?--Come, Arab," she
added, turning with a sprightly air to Yoosoof, "you are a trader, I
suppose; all Arabs are, I am told. Well, what sort of wares have you
got to sell?"

Yoosoof smiled slightly as he stepped aside and pointed to Azinte.

The speaking countenance of the Portuguese girl changed as if by magic.
She had seen little and thought little about slavery during the brief
period of her residence on the coast, and had scarcely realised the fact
that Sambo, with the thick lips--her father's gardener--or the black
cook and house-maids, were slaves. It was the first entrance of a new
idea with something like power into her mind when she saw a delicate,
mild-looking, and pretty negro girl actually offered for sale.

Before she could bethink herself of any remark the door opened, and in
walked, unannounced, a man on whose somewhat handsome countenance
villainy was clearly stamped.

"Ha! Marizano," exclaimed Senhor Letotti, rising, "you have thought
better of it, I presume?"

"I have, and I agree to your arrangement," replied Marizano, in an
off-hand, surly tone.

"There is nothing like necessity," returned the Governor, with a laugh.
"'Twere be