"No," he said hastily, "no; it would have been mine had I not found that there were people in existence who are more righteously entitled to it. Now I shall find it, if I can, for you. Pray continue your tale. When that is concluded I will begin mine." For some time he could not bring her to do so, his words having caused her much excitement; but at last she took up the thread of her narrative--the narrative interrupted so early in its commencement. "This Barbara," she said at last--while all the time her clear eyes had a searching, almost troubled, look, as she kept them fixed on him--"this Barbara of whom you seem to know, or to have guessed the appearance, though I cannot say if it is a correct one, had herself a strange history. Simon Alderly had found her, a child of about four years old, alone and deserted on one of the Lucayos group, and, since there was a boat washing about on the coast of the island, he thought that possibly she had drifted ashore in it, while her parents, or those who had saved her, had fallen into the sea from the boat after escaping from some sinking ship. He took her off, however, carried her to Port Royal, and, after bringing her up, married her when she was fifteen. Then he left her in charge of his house there, while he, following the calling of a sea-captain, was frequently away from home, sometimes for weeks at a time, sometimes for months, sometimes for more than a year. But whenever he returned he always brought a great deal of money--generally composed of the coins of several different nations--half of which he always gave to her for future household expenses, spending the remainder in great rejoicing while he stayed on shore." "This is, of course, family history," Reginald hazarded, "handed down from generation to generation? Is it not?" "You shall hear, though you have guessed right. Our family records since that time have been carefully kept." "I beg your pardon for interrupting you," Reginald said. "Pray go on." "However," the girl continued, stroking Carazo's ears all the while as she did so, "the time came when he returned no more; he disappeared finally in 1687." "Ah!" exclaimed Reginald involuntarily. Again her soft hazel eyes stared full at him as she exclaimed, "You are aware of that; you know it as well as I do!" "Yes," he answered, "I know it. Once more forgive me." "Perhaps," she said, "you know as much, or more than I do!" "No," he replied, "after that I know no more. After the year 1687 down to this period I know nothing further of Simon Alderly--indeed I did not even know that his name was Simon; what you tell me of incidents after that period will be new to me." "And you will tell me all you know when I have finished?" she asked, looking at him with such trusting eyes that no man, unless he were a scoundrel, could have had one thought of obtaining her confidence and yet holding his own.