"No, he was father's friend; but I could never love him, though I treated him respectfully." She was serious now. "Then, Morgianna, who was it?" he asked impulsively. She was silent. He waited but a second or two and went on. "Some one surely stood in the way of our--my happiness. I had hoped that you did not despise me. I scarce dared to think you loved me, but it was some one,--who stood in my way?" Her cheek grew crimson as the rich blood mounted to neck and face, and in a voice scarce audible she answered: "No one!" "Morgianna!" he whispered, "dare I hope--dare I for one minute--" he had risen to his feet and was standing at her side with wildly beating heart. She made no answer, but her long drooping lashes almost concealed her eyes, as she gazed on the floor. He advanced a step nearer, bent over and took one little trembling hand in his own. She did not attempt to withdraw it this time, and, gently slipping his disengaged arm about her waist, he murmured: "Morgianna!" Still she was silent. He went on: "You know how I have loved you all these years;--you must have known how I have suffered and braved dangers untold. I sought--defied death, because I deemed you lost. I spared the man I thought my rival, because I believed you loved him. Though a young man, there are gray hairs in my head, for it has been a living death since that night, Morgianna. Why have you----" "Oh, don't, don't!" she plead, tears starting to her beautiful eyes. "Don't speak that way--forgive me." "Morgianna!" cried Fernando, "Morgianna!" "Call me that; aye call me that always," exclaimed the captain's little daughter; "never speak coldly to me, never be distant, never again reprove me for the follies I have long repented, or I shall die, Fernando." "I reprove you!" said Fernando. "Yes, for every kind and honest word you uttered went to my heart. For you who have borne so much from me--for you, who owe your suffering to my caprice--for you to be so kind--so noble to me--oh, Fernando!" He could say nothing, not a syllable. There was an odd sort of eloquence in his arm, which had crept further round her waist, and their lips met. The barbecue and celebration was next day. Fernando was present, but a little absent-minded. When called on for a speech, his ideas were confused, and he was about to break down, when a voice behind him whispered: "Ye're makin' a divil's own mess of it, Fernando, lave it to me." He took Terrence at his word, and announced that his Irish friend, one of the defenders of Mariana, would now address them, and gave way to the orator. Terrence did the subject justice. With the rich brogue of Ireland rolling from his tongue, he avowed himself an American. He declared that he was a better American than many present, as he was an American from choice, and they by necessity. Terrence was an orator, and with his ready wit, soon had the audience roaring and wild with enthusiasm.