"I do, very badly. I remembered only to-day that you once proved a true friend to Diniz Sampayo, and I came to know if you would again aid him?" throwing back her veil, and disclosing a pale, sweet face, stamped by deepest grief. "Diniz Sampayo! But is he, then, in need of help--in danger?" a sudden fear lighting up her face. "Yes, he is in prison," sadly. "You are sure? How can it be possible? What has he done?" in amazed wonder. "He has done nothing. Only his enemies have thrown the suspicion of his having stolen a poignard from Manuel Tonza--a poignard which I know he bought here. It is my fault this has happened. It was to avenge the death of the man I loved--his dearest friend--that he placed his life in peril!" "I remember well. It is quite true he bought it here, soon after Jarima, the fisherman, had sold it to my grandfather. He, poor dear, is also in sorrow, imprisoned for having received stolen goods, as if he could tell when things are stolen!" indignantly. "I am very sorry, Miriam; but if you help me, you will help your grandfather also," Lianor urged gently. "I will!" Miriam cried firmly; "I will never give up until I have them both safely outside that odious prison!" Lianor gazed with grateful affection at the girl's expressive face, which now wore such a look of determined courage. "If I can do anything, let me know directly," Lianor said, gently. "Gold may perhaps be useful, and I have much." "Thank you, but I am rich; and I know grandfather would lose all, rather than his liberty. You are Don Garcia's daughter, are you not?" "Yes," somewhat sadly. "You know me?" "By sight, yes." "I shall see you again, I hope," Lianor said, as Miriam followed her to the door. "You will tell me of your success or failure?" "Yes; I will come or write." When her charming visitor had gone, Miriam returned to her seat, a pained expression on her bright face. "He also there. Poor Diniz! But I will save him yet," determinedly. Hastily opening a heavy iron box, she drew out a handful of gold. Placing this in her pocket, she softly left the house, and scarcely knowing what instinct prompted her, she hurried towards a small hotel not far from the sea. "Can you tell me," she began breathlessly to a sunburnt man standing near, "if there are any ships leaving here to-morrow?" "I don't know, senora. I will inquire," he answered politely, and after an absence of about ten minutes, he returned to say "that Captain Moriz, of the Eagle, was even then preparing for departure on the morrow." "Where does he live?" Miriam said, eagerly. "He is staying at this hotel at present." "Do you think I could see him? It is very important." "I dare say. You can at least try," smilingly. The Jewess thanked her good-natured commissioner, and lightly ascended the steps. "I wish to see Captain Moriz. Is he in?" "I think so," the man answered after one quick glance at Miriam; "I will inquire."