‘Yes, it is a white child,’ replied Lizzie, with a deep sigh, as she stood trembling at what might follow. But Mr Courtney said no more on the subject. Perhaps his mind was too full of his lost friend to think of minor things, anyway he left the bungalow without another word or look, and Lizzie breathed more freely when he had gone. She spent the remainder of the day beside the remains of the father whom she had loved so well, and when the sun had sunk in the west, and the cool sea breezes commenced to blow over San Diego, she followed his coffin to the little European burial ground, which was situated on the top of a hill, and in full view of the glorious ocean. She saw that there were many friends, both white and coloured, gathered round the open grave but she was in no fit condition to recognise who they were. Only, as the last words of the solemn service were concluded, and she heard the sods of earth rattle on the coffin lid, and felt as if she must throw herself in with them, and be buried with all she loved best in this world, she found some one supporting her failing steps on either side, and looking up saw she was standing between Mr Courtney and Captain Norris. ‘Come, my dear child,’ whispered the former. ‘It is all over now. Let us see you safely to your home.’ They led her between them back to the empty bungalow, and the three friends sat down together in the sitting-room, whilst Rosa squatted in the verandah with Maraquita’s baby in her arms. Liz, making an effort to battle with her emotion, busied herself with setting some light refreshment before her guests. Mr Courtney drank a glass of iced sherbet in silence, and then cleared his throat as though to force himself to speak. ‘Lizzie, my dear, I have a good deal to say to you, and I wish to say it now. I might leave it till to-morrow, but I think it will do you good to fix your mind at once upon business, and to settle what you are to do in the future.’ Lizzie turned a little paler than she had been. She had understood her future to be settled that morning. But she guessed why it required further explanation now. ‘Captain Norris, than whom I think your dear father had no warmer friend, has been talking to me on the subject this afternoon, and has consented to become the guardian and trustee of your interests.’ ‘I am of age,’ interrupted Lizzie, with open eyes; ‘I require no guardian.’ ‘Stop, my dear, and let me finish what I have to say. You may not require a personal guardian, but your monetary interests may need looking after. I am not likely to forget you at my death, Lizzie.’ ‘Indeed, Mr Courtney, you are too good to me,’ said Liz,--‘as you were to my poor father,’ she added, in a lower voice.