At the time when she is introduced to my readers, she was dressed in a loose white muslin morning robe, slightly confined at the waist by a white silken cord; and from beneath the folds of this garment peeped out now and then two beautifully-shaped little feet clad in a delicate pair of white satin slippers. The band round her hair was also white. A dress of this description does not generally comport with beauty of the style of Louise's; but in the case of loveliness so exceeding as hers, it absolutely added to the effect. The pure, innocent, and elevated expression of her face, haloed by her lustrous wealth of golden hair, the beholder might be said to realise the ideal of the old masters. The cabin of the _Duchess_ occupied, as usual, the after-part of the ship. Directly at the stern, and dividing the width of the vessel between them, were two handsome and elegantly-furnished state-rooms--the one assigned to Mr Durocher, and the other to his daughter. Each of these state-rooms opened into the saloon, which, occupying the breadth of the ship, was very nearly square. Forward of this saloon, a narrow passage leading from it divided a double row of state-rooms--two upon each side--which were used by the officers of the ship. At the time when these new characters are introduced to the reader, the _Duchess_ had been some days out of port. She had gone through what is called the Windward Passage--between the islands of Cuba and Hayti--had passed through the channel crowded with many islets, which lies between Caycos and Turks islands and had fairly entered upon the broad Atlantic. The invigorating air of the open sea had so improved the health of Mr Durocher that he had been brought from the bed in his state-room to a sofa in the saloon. Here he was attended by his daughter and a young quadroon slave girl, who waited upon the young lady. Louise, who was skilled in music, and performed upon several instruments, had just finished singing, to an accompaniment on the harp, the beautiful old song entitled "My Normandy"--a genuine relic of the age of chivalry, of the days of the trouviers and troubadours--when her father's emotion caused her to put aside the instrument. That touching song, applying fully to the case of the returning exile himself, with its tender refrain-- "I long again the land to see, Which gave me birth--my Normandy," recalled the past vividly, with many a hope then entertained of a happy return to his native land--many a hope which the untimely death of his wife had destroyed for ever.