Monsieur Henri assisted Madame to gain the deck, and seated her in a comfortable willow-chair under a canopy in the stern. Louis placed himself at the helm, the four sailors manned the capstan, the anchor was weighed, the sails filled, and the Sylph floated out upon the blue and sparkling water. As they sailed from the eastern extremity of the Island, they were obliged to “’bout ship” and make half the circuit of the Isle, in order to steer for the Northampton coast, that lay off to the westward. After a delightful sail of three hours they came in sight of the main land, with its rolling hills and valleys, and dark green woods and meadows. A beautiful but solitary shore. No house in all its length to be seen save one—an old, half-ruined, gray stone mansion, standing far out upon a point of land extending into the sea, and half hidden by the ancient forest trees around it. “That is Brande’s Headland, where we are going ashore,” said Monsieur Henri—walking forward and giving orders to the men to strike sail and cast anchor where they were. A small skiff was then let down from the side of the barque, Monsieur Henri and Madame got into it, followed by Louis, who took the single oar and sculled rapidly toward the beach, which they reached in a few minutes. Monsieur, still with the air of the Chevalier Bayard, or the Grand Monarque, handed Madame from the boat, drew her arm within his own, and with the aid of a gold-headed cane, began to help himself and her up the rugged ascent of the bank. As they reached its top, and stood upon a level with the old, dilapidated house, some three or four wild looking, handsome, healthy boys ran out to see who was coming. Two great Newfoundland dogs that lay upon the broken, stone steps, sprang up, but were immediately restrained by the appearance of a very handsome, dark-haired girl, of about thirteen years of age, who came to the front door, and laying a hand on the head of each favorite, said: “Down, Wind! Down, Wave! Behave, boys! How dare you then? Don’t you see it’s Monsieur Henri?” The dogs, still growling, unwillingly submitted, and the handsome brunette came down the old moss-grown steps to meet her visitors. “Welcome, Monsieur Henri! but you must forgive the dogs; they know _you_, of course; it was the strange lady they objected to,” said the brown maiden, extending her hand to the old gentleman, who took and shook it cordially and held it cozily, while he said: “Ah, Barbara, Barbara, still brighter than ever, my brave girl! Why, what a woman you are growing! And how is the old skipper? Eh, Barbara? And the handsome young mate? Eh, Barbara?” The young girl laughed, displaying a row of the whitest and evenest teeth in striking contrast with her cherry lips, nut-brown skin, and sloe-black hair and eyes. She was too young and guileless to blush at such a question. “The skipper is off again? Eh, Barbara?”