"I had a home in Italy once, madam--a home, though humble, as happy, perchance, as yours in England; but the Austrians came and brought death and sorrow upon it, so I turned my back on the place where the olives and acacias grew before my father's house, and returned there no more." "The Austrians," repeated Dr. Heriot, who, with Rose leaning on his arm, had now joined them; "we, in England, occasionally heard of great outrages committed by them." The black eyes of Manfredi sparkled, and a sigh escaped him. "Mr. Manfredi is sighing," said the heedless Rose; "depend upon it that love has something to do with his memories of Italy." "You mistake, madam," said the third mate, with a smile at the lively girl, whose fair English face and fine merry eyes looked so beautiful in the moonlight, that the younger Barradas at the wheel regarded her more than his compass, so that frequently the sails shivered aloft, and he was somewhat wild in his steering; "my memories of Italy are, many of them, pure and charming, as if love formed a portion of them; and yet I wish all these memories to die together." "What kind of paradox is this, my dear Manfredi?" asked Dr. Heriot. "It is no paradox." "We have a Scottish writer who says that 'No thought, no delightful memory, ever dies; it may remain silent for a season, but it will come from those inexpressibly deep regions of memory; it will come at some time to brighten the present, and to brighten the recollection of the past." The face of the young Scotchman flushed as he spoke, with Rose's pretty hand trembling on his arm; but the Italian only smiled sadly, and said: "You mistake me, doctor. The pure and tender memories of my home are so inseparably blended with the sad and bitter, that I have no desire but to forget them altogether, for the former add but poignancy to the latter. Surely you must have heard the story of my brother, little Attilio Manfredi, whose assassination was termed the great crime of the House of Hapsburg? As such it went the circuit of the English newspapers, which received the story from the _Monitore Toscana_, whose sheets were under the revision of the assassin, the Austrian commandant." After a silence of a minute, for the Italian seemed labouring under deep emotion, Dr. Heriot said: "No; I do not remember of this, Manfredi." "Pray tell us about it," said Rose. "Pray do," added Ethel. "Wait, ladies, please, until the wheel is relieved, and I shall tell you a sad but simple tale of barbarous cruelty." A tall, rawboned Yankee sailor, with a hooked nose and villainous square jaw, now relieved Zuares Barradas, who civilly touched his hat and went forward, just as the whist-players came on deck, and proceeded to exchange tobacco-pouches and light their pipes.