"In fact, I saw Violet Hyde moving restlessly, two or three times, near the break of the poop, as she watched the dim opening astern, while her lady's maid kept close behind her, afraid to stay below; and waiting, idle as I was, I almost began for the time to forget everything else that might be going on, at thought of _her_ being only a few feet off, with no one by but the servant-maid. The touch of her soft hand about my head an hour ago came back on me, and the drowsy creeping kind of hush of the tropical night seemed to bewilder my senses at every rustle of her dress--I shan't even deny that the notion seized me for half-a-minute, were the schooner to make prisoners of the boats' crews, how I might carry the Indiaman out to sea, and go Lord knows where with her. Then the idea of defending her, and saving her, made one wild with excitement--I felt as if I had the strength of twenty in me, almost longing to see the pirates' faces, especially the dark Frenchman's, and to wait till they came close on, when we could let drive into them, expecting to find us helpless. I made up my mind that Mr Brown there, and the missionary too, should work at a gun as soon as they were wanted--when, trip, trip, I heard her footstep coming down the poop-stair behind me, and stood trembling and tingling to my very finger-ends. "'Mr Westwood,' said her low sweet voice, and I turned round. 'Yes, madam,' I answered, gulping down my breath. 'Have you heard--do you see anything?' 'They've scarce had time yet,' said I; 'of course the more cautious they are the better!' 'Oh!' continued she, her hands clasping together, and the shawl falling half off her head to one shoulder--'oh, if there should really be bloodshed at this moment--the river looks so fearfully gloomy and silent! How is it possible to bear this suspense any longer, sir? If we could _only_ think they were not pirates after all!' 'Miss Hyde,' replied I seriously, as she seemed to wish me to speak, 'I can't have any doubt in my own mind what they are!' 'How! _what?_ for mercy's sake!' exclaimed she, gazing earnestly at me. 'You musn't suppose all pirates to be bloody murdering ruffians, Miss Hyde,' said I hastily. 'There's one man belonging to that craft yonder, _I'm_ sure, if he saw--if he stood where I stand just now, so near an angel----' The young lady shrank back with a startled look; but I wasn't master of myself longer, and out I broke: 'For God's sake forgive me, but I--I'd serve you like a slave--_dearest_ Miss Hyde. I'll stand up to the last drop of my blood before----' 'Mr West--wood!' was the answer, hanging betwixt surprise and terror. But I burst out with, 'Confound that name!--my name is _not_ Westwood, madam, and I'm no relation at all to the gentleman in India. I never said so, but your father mistook----' 'Who then--what are you--what design have you?' was her broken question; and she put one hand on the bulwarks as if for support,