strange speech, sweet Ellen Armstrong sank fainting into the arms of Arthur Huntington; and Mary Hamilton, with a blanched cheek, shrank closer to her uncle's side, as he thus indignantly addressed the pirate:

'Villain, I command you to leave the presence of these ladies, instantly.'

'Until their safety is duly cared for, I shall not stir from this spot,' coolly replied the pirate.

'Take your fair burthen to the boat, Arthur,' exclaimed the earl, impatiently, 'and I will follow you.'

'You may go, but the ladies will remain,' said the pirate decidedly, who at the same time gave a loud peculiar whistle, and the next moment the earl found himself and his companions surrounded by a band of ferocious desperadoes, who, with brandished weapons, stood ready to execute the commands of their leader.

'Two of you take these ladies to the palace,' exclaimed Blackbeard, 'whilst the remainder of you will see the gentlemen safely embarked for yonder ship.'

Although the earl and Arthur Huntington resisted manfully, their efforts were unavailing, for whilst the two ladies were borne off in one direction, they were quickly hurried on board their boat and compelled by the threats of their ruffianly assailants to row swiftly towards the noble Gladiator.

CHAPTER III.

In spite of their entreaties, the females were ruthlessly torn away from their companions, and conducted by these remorseless ruffians to the pirate's palace. Mary then thought, that the beauty and loveliness of the island, which, but a few hours previous she would not have exchanged for all England, she would now gladly quit for the meanest spot on Briton's Isle.

Sweet Ellen murmured to herself that the horrible forebodings she had in reference to the island, were but the precursor of what might be expected. The grandeur and sublimity of its scenery, its isolated position, being surrounded by the waters of the Atlantic—the unnatural music and noises, all conspired to fill the mind of this young girl with the idea that something was about to transpire of no ordinary nature,—and neither was she deceived.

A great change however, had been wrought in the course of the last few hours, upon the thoughts and feelings of our two fair captives, a change which had caused reality to usurp for a time at least, the place of romance, and constrained them to gaze with a vacant look upon the superbly natural beauties of the island glen. Therefore with thoughts concentrated upon their immediate personal prospects and fruitless conjectures as to the complexion of their coming fate, the fair captives mechanically followed the footsteps of their guides, who when they had reached the bottom of the hill, suddenly stopped before the open door of a long building which had been ingeniously constructed of bamboo and other light materials well suited for the covering of a cool place of shelter, under the heat of a tropical sun. There was nothing farther, worthy of remark about its exterior appearance, with the exception of its being so thickly covered on all sides by the luxuriant and evergreen foliage of the surrounding trees, as to preclude it from being seen from the tops of the adjacent hills, but its interior contained four large apartments, two of which had been fitted up in a manner luxurious, and even elegant.

Into one of these two rooms, whose walls were decorated and hung round with the richest crimson drapery, and which was as richly furnished in every other respect, did the strange guides usher their fair prisoners, after which, they instantly retired, leaving our heroine and her companion to consult together as they might see fit upon their singular and mysterious situation.

'Do we dream dear Mary,' exclaimed Ellen, us she gazed wildly around this strange apartment, 'or are we laboring under the influence of some fairy spell of necromantic enchantment?'

'Would to Heaven, that it was so,' exclaimed Mary, in reply, 'but alas, it is not. For the present at least, dear Ellen, we are in the power of ferocious pirates, from whom, I hope we shall soon be released.'

'How?' asked Ellen, hardly realizing what she said.

'Through the agency of our friends on ship-board' replied Mary.

'Oh yes, I recollect now,' said Ellen. 'My father and Arthur have gone on board our vessel, but I have seen nothing of Henry or Patrick, since we first landed upon this fatal spot. Where do you think they can be?'

'I have been trying to convince my mind of their safety, ever since we fell in with our cruel captors,' answered Mary, 'yet I cannot say that I have succeeded in so doing. From the top of some adjacent hill, they may have witnessed the scenes which transpired on the occasion of our capture, and concealed themselves in some of the fissures of the rocky cliffs, there to await assistance from the ship, or—'

'They may have been taken prisoners, by the pirates, as you call them,' interrupted Ellen.

'Heaven forbid,' exclaimed Mary earnestly. 'But if that should be the fact,' continued the fair girl, after a moment's pause, 'I feel greatly consoled by the hope that they, as well as ourselves, will find a speedy release from this horrible bondage.'

'I'm sure it will not be Captain Rowland's fault, if we are not very soon liberated,' replied Ellen.

'You seem to be rather partial towards this Captain Rowland,' Mary carelessly remarked.

'Partial, what mean you by that, Mary?' asked Ellen, as a slight blush overspread her beautiful features. 'He has been very kind and attentive to all of us during our voyage, and such treatment requires, in my opinion, at least civility in return.'

Before Mary could find time to reply to the words of her companion, the ears of both our fair captives were suddenly astonished by the sound of a female voice, singing in a sweet, low tone of touching melody the following words—

'This must be the very palace of enchantment,' exclaimed Ellen, as the voice of the singer abruptly ceased, 'where one could almost be led to forget their own personal identity. But hark, I hear the strange voice again.'

Ellen and her companion again listened in almost breathless silence as the invisible vocalist continued her song, thus:

Here the voice of the invisible songster again ceased, and although both Ellen and her companion listened long for its repetition, they listened in vain, for it was heard no more.

After a short interval of silence had elapsed, Mary Hamilton addressed her companion as follows—

'The thought has just entered my mind of attempting to escape from this strange and horrible place.'

'I must own, dear Mary,' replied Ellen, 'that the place is strange enough to terrify a less romantic person than myself, still I think it far from being horrible. This room is almost as elegantly furnished as was my dear mother's in London, and then only think of the delightful music which has so lately greeted our ears.'

'Think too, of the horrid farce we have seen,' continued Mary.—'Earnestly consider, dear Ellen, that we are in the