To return to Josephine and her mother, whom we left in the Captain's elegant state room. We must here remark that Sophia Franklin, the gentle, angelic sister of the depraved Josephine, had gone to spend a month or so with an aunt, (her father's sister,) in Newark, N.J., which circumstance will account for not accompanying her mother and sister in their flight from New York. It may be as well to add that she was in blissful ignorance of her father having been murdered, and of course, knew nothing of the discovery of that fact by Dr. Sinclair. 'Thank heaven,' cried Josephine, raising the wine glass to her vermilion lips--'we are at last clear of that odious New York! I feel as if just liberated from a prison.' 'The feeling is natural, my dear,' rejoined her mother--'you are no longer in constant dread of that horrible fellow who is so savagely amorous with regard to both of us. We have fairly given him the slip, and it will be difficult for him to find us.' 'Don't you think, mamma,' asked the young lady--'that the Captain, who so politely surrendered this beautiful cabin for our accommodation, is a splendid fellow? Really, I am quite smitten with him.' 'So am I,' remarked her mother--'he is certainly very handsome, and it is hard that he should be turned out of his cabin on our account. Why cannot we all three sleep here? I am sure he needs but a hint to make him joyfully agree to such an arrangement.' 'I understand you mamma,' said Josephine, her eyes sparking with pleasure--'you will see what a delicate invitation I'll give him; but I won't be selfish--you shall enjoy as much benefit from the arrangement as myself. Hark! somebody knocks--it must be the Captain.' And so it was; he had come to inquire if the ladies were comfortable, and on receiving an affirmative answer, was about to bid them good night and depart, when Josephine invited him to sit down and have a glass of wine with them. It was not in the nature of the good Captain to decline an invitation when extended by a pretty woman. The mother and daughter, tastefully attired in superb evening dresses, looked irresistibly charming--the more so, perhaps, because their cheeks were suffused with the rosy hues of wine and passion. 'I have been thinking, Captain,' said Josephine, casting her brilliant eyes upon the carpet--'that it is unjust for us to drive you from your cabin, and make you pass the night in some less comfortable place. Mother and I have been talking about it, and we both think you had better sleep in here, as usual.' 'What--and drive you ladies out?' cried the Captain--'couldn't think of it, upon my honor.' 'Oh, it doesn't necessarily follow that we must be driven out,' said Josephine, raising her eyes to his face, and smiling archly--'you silly man, don't you see that we want to be very kind to you?'