ttempting to outline any plan of action.
You say, Madame, that your--Chevalier de Noyan is a prisoner on the
fleet in the river. Upon which ship is he confined?"

"The 'Santa Maria.'"

"The 'Santa Maria'?--if memory serve, the largest of them all?"

"Yes! the flag-ship."

"She lies, as I remember, for I stood on the levee two hours ago
watching the strange spectacle, close in toward the shore, beside the
old sugar warehouse of Bomanceaux et fils."

"You are correct," returned the Capuchin soberly, the lady hesitating.
"The ship swingeth by her cable scarce thirty feet from the bank."

"That, at least, has sound of good fortune," I thought, revolving
rapidly a sudden inspiration from his answer, "yet it will prove a
desperate trick to try."

Then I spoke aloud once more.

"She appeared a veritable monster of the sea to my backwoods eyes;
enough to pluck the heart out of a man. Has either of you stepped
aboard her?"

The priest shook his shaven head despondently.

"Nay; never any Frenchman, except as prisoner in shackles, has found
foothold upon that deck since O'Reilly came. It is reported no negro
boatmen are permitted to approach her side with cargoes of fruit and
vegetables, so closely is she guarded against all chances of treachery."

"Faith! it must be an important crime to bring such extremity of
vigilance. With what is De Noyan charged?"

"He, with others, is held for treason against the King of Spain."

"There are more than one, then?"

"Five." He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "Madame de Noyan's
father is among them."

"Lafreniere?" I uttered the name in astonishment. "Then why am I not
asked to assist him?"

The thoughtless exclamation cut her deeply with its seeming implication
of neglect, yet the words she strove to speak failed to come. The
priest rebuked me gravely:

"Thou doest great injustice by such inconsiderate speech, my son.
There are hearts loyal to France in this province, who would count
living a crime if it were won at the cost of Lafreniere. He hath been
already offered liberty, yet deliberately chooseth to remain and meet
his fate. Holy Mother! we can do no more."

I bent, taking her moist hands gently between my own.

"I beg you pardon me, Madame; I am not yet wholly myself, and intended
no such offence as my hasty words would seem to imply. One's manners
do not improve with long dwelling among savages."

She met my stumbling apology with a radiant