I,—but finding myself their topic, I lay still, and listened attentively.

"How very extraordinary," continued Joey, "that Lennox, on his way from Mr. M——'s to the wharf, should have stumbled on the little man, with the ruffian in the very act of rifling him."

"Why, he did not rifle me," said I, faintly. They both started, and looked towards me. "He did not rob me, for I distinctly recollect his starting off when he stabbed me."

"Ay, sir, that was to see if he had been sure in his blow—for Lennox came on him after he returned, just as he struck his stiletto into you the second time, as you lay on the ground, and after having, with the speed of thought, seized the bolsa with the doubloons."

"Wounded me twice! Upon my honour," said I, fumbling in my bosom, "and so he has—the villain."

Mr Peak continued—"From the marine's account, he himself had a tough job of it, for if he had not got hold of the knife, that had dropped during the scuffle, he would have been done for, in place of having finished the bravo."

"Finished the bravo! Is the man who wounded me dead, then?"

"Not yet, sir," continued Mr Peak. "But he cannot live, I hear—Lennox made sure work of it. He told me himself, that in his desperation he passed the knife into him, until his thumb was stopped by his ribs—none of your back blows, but a straight thrust—a regular pig-butcher's slide, sir."

"Pig-butcher's slide! how classical! If he had not deserved it," said I, "I would have been sorry that a fellow-creature's blood had been shed even in my defence."

"No, no," quoth De Walden, "it was, more properly speaking, in Lennox's own defence; for the villain, not content with killing you, as he thought he had done, and robbing you besides, would most assuredly have served the poor Scotchman the same way, if he had not been beforehand with him."

"But where is Lennox?"

"The town-guard, who had heard the row, came up just as he had mastered his opponent, sir; and the poor fellow, with great discretion, made no attempt to escape, so he is now a prisoner, along with the wounded man; but he is quite cool and collected, and the moment you can give your evidence, there is not the smallest doubt but he will be instantly released."

"And yourself, De Walden—by what miracle do I see you here?"

"By next to a miracle, indeed, my dear sir," said he, smiling; then, with an altered countenance, he continued—"The worst among us, sir, is not yet a fiend—no human heart is altogether evil—and I owe my life to the very man who tried to take yours—to the fellow who stabbed you, sir. But I am forgetting myself altogether—you must take your draught again, sir, and to-morrow forenoon you shall know all. In the mean time I must entreat you to take some rest, if you can, and I will go and turn in."

"I say, De Walden, what is that dropping there?"

"You are always making slops, Joe," said the other, as he rose to go away; "why, what have you spilt next?"

"Spilt?" rejoined Peak, "hand me the light, for, by the powers, I believe that Mr Brail himself is spilling,—if not quite entirely spilt—see here."

True enough; the wound in my breast, which, although not deep, the knife having been stopped by the bone, was lacerated, had burst out afresh, either from my motion or emotion, and a black stream now trickled over the sheet that covered the red-leather mattrass of the quatre on which I rested, and fell tap-tap on the floor.

"Run, run, De Walden—call the doctor's assistant—he sleeps in the next room," cried little Peak.

In a moment the Spaniard was with us, without his clothes, but with his bandages and lint, and as the operation was a very simple one, I was soon put to rights again; but I took the hint, and asked for no more information that night. De Walden now rose and wished me good-night, saying, as little Peak took charge of the deck, "You are to call Mrs Gerard at daylight, Joey—so clap a stopper on your jaw, you little villain, and don't speak one word, even if he desires you."

"Pah, you be hanged, De Walden," quoth Joey.

So, satisfied and thankful for what I now did know, and in the hope of learning all to-morrow, I took the draught, turned on my sound side, and slept in Elysium.

*****

Next morning, when I awoke, the sun had already risen, and shone cheerily through the open casement. Several black female domestics were busy setting the room in which I lay in order, and a middle-aged respectable-looking white woman employed in sewing, now occupied the chair in which the ghost of De Walden sat the previous night, while busied in the etherial occupation of eating pine-apple and drinking vin-de-grave.

Seeing I was awake, she spoke—"I hope you feel yourself better this morning; you have had a very quiet night, sir, Mr Peak says."

"Thank you, I do feel wonderfully refreshed. Pray, are you one of the family?"

"No, sir, I am the wife of the captain of the American brig, whose crew you, and your friend Mr Lanyard, saved from perishing of thirst."

"What! are you the poor woman whom I found in the cabin with her child?"

"I am, sir; and I hope heaven will reward you for it. My husband has been here often, sir, to enquire after you. His vessel is consigned to Mr Duquesné, sir; how happy he will be to find you so much better, when he calls at dinner time to-day!"

"How came it that I was carried into this house? Mr Duquesné's, I believe—a Frenchman, from the name?"

"You were wounded close to it, sir, and the marine who found you, thinking you were dying, requested the guard, after they had taken the man who stabbed you, to allow you to be carried in here; and I thank Heaven that you have fallen into such good hands, and that I have had it in my power to be of some use to you, as a sick-nurse."

To let the reader behind the curtain without more palaver, I shall bring my log up to the present speaking, in three words or so:—Mr Duquesné, in whose hospitable mansion I now lay badly wounded, was a French merchant of high repute in Havanna. He was a widower, and had an only daughter, Sophie, the beautiful brunette that I had seen hanging over De Walden at the easel. The manager of his New York establishment, an American gentleman of the name of Hudson, whose son was a lieutenant in the Yankee frigate anchored in the port, was at this time, with his wife and daughter, on a visit to him, having come down in the man-of-war. Mr Hudson had a twofold object in this visit; first, to arrange some mercantile transactions with his partner; and secondly, to take possession of a large coffee property, that he had lately inherited in right of his wife.

Sophie Duquesné and Helen Hudson were bosom friends, according to the rule observed in all similar cases; and as for the gentlemen of the family, Mr Duquesné, the papa, was a stout but very handsome man, apparently about fifty. He did not, in the most remote degree, fall in with one's notions of a Frenchman; verily I would have sworn he never had eaten a frog in his life. He was punctiliously well-bred, spoke English tolerably, and Spanish perfectly well; and, under Providence, I have to thank him that I am now inditing this authentic record. Had I been his own son, he could not have had me more tenderly cared for. Mr Hudson was a tall, sallow person, with a good dash of the Yankee in his outward man, and a little flavour of the same in his accent and phraseology; but an upright merchant, well read in the literature of the day, a tolerable linguist, and more liberal in his opinions than most of his countrymen. He had travelled a good deal on the Continent, and had spent three years in England, partly for his wife's health, and partly for the education of his only daughter, Helen. But his wife was, without exception, one of the most ladylike persons I ever beheld. She was an heiress of one of the best families in