"No, but I shall lay the Raker alongside of the first craft I see that sports a British flag; and after I have taken it, why I'll put you and your crew aboard, and you may make the best of your way back to England." "Suppose you should run a-foul of one of our frigates." "Never fear that--the little Raker will take care of herself. She can outsail any thing that floats, now that we have sunk that bloody pirate. I do think that he could sail away from her. I always run up to a vessel or run off from her, just as my spy-glass tells me I'd better do. You may depend on seeing old England again before a great while, Captain Horton, or I'm much mistaken." "I shant be sorry to come within hail of her white cliffs again, though I did not expect, two weeks ago, that I should see them for many a long month." Julia and Florette were seated in the little cabin below; the French girl was weeping bitterly. She had done little else since she had been removed to the privateer. Julia had in vain endeavored to console her; and rightly judging that it would be better to allow her grief to have full vent, she had for several days done little but to see to all her wants, and whisper an occasional word of cheerfulness and encouragement. She determined, however, on this morning to make another attempt to console the unfortunate girl. "My dear Florette," said she, "why do you so continually mourn; all that has happened cannot now be remedied." "I know it, lady." "Then do not weep, Florette, you shall once more see your native France; and you will be happy again." "O, never, never! I have lost all that could make me happy!" "You have been unfortunate, Florette, but you have not been guilty." "Alas! I have been guilty; it is that which grieves me now more than aught else. No, I should have died rather than have suffered myself to become the pirate's mistress." "Yet you were compelled, Florette." "Ah! lady, _you_ would not have been compelled; you would have sooner died--would you not?" The flashing eye of Julia, and the warm flush that covered her cheek and neck, answered the poor girl. She would not trust herself to answer in words. "I see you would, dear lady--and so should I have done. No, I am guilty. I could have saved my honor in the arms of death; the pirate's dirk lay on the table in my cabin--that would have saved me; the deep, deep sea was all around me--there, too, I might have found an honorable safety." "My dear Florette, do not think of these things now. You are sorry for the past, whether you have done a great wrong, or a small, it is certainly not one which the good God cannot forgive." "But the world will not; and, lady, I loved the pirate-captain; harsh as he was to all else, to me he was kind--and now he is dead. O! William, William!" "Do not weep for him, Florette."