Anne De Bracy was charmed with the lovely scenery and the delicious climate. At night she would sit for hours at her window, enjoying the air, so refreshing after the heat of the day; as the moon stood high in the heavens, silvering with its soft light the columns of smoke from Vesuvius, as they rose upwards in curling wreaths towards heaven; then the countless fishing skiffs, with their lights flashing in the waters from their sterns, to attract the lobsters and large fish, which rise at once to the light, and are caught. To Anne De Bracy, the tall, dark figures on which the bright flames glanced, amid the calm stillness of the moon-lit scene, appeared almost demon-like. Almost close beside the handsome villas and mansions along the river, are to be seen the strange dwellings of the poor fishermen, which are scooped out like caves from the hard rock; many of them without any kind of window, receiving the light and air needed from the open door. Anne De Bracy, with her aunt, who rarely stirred abroad till evening, used often to walk along the front of these primitive dwellings, lighted within by the oil lamp, revealing to view the careless and life-loving family within; the girls gaily singing and chatting at times, the men mending nets, and making bark-woven baskets. One evening, a rather sultry one, Mrs. Webb and her niece were walking along the beach, when the former complained of a sudden faintness, and before they could even reach one of the cottages, or rather caves, she fainted in the frightened girl’s arms. Miss De Bracy uttered a cry of alarm; and as she did so, a young man, in a fisherman’s costume, rushed from behind a jutting rock, and ran forward in time to catch Mrs. Webb in his arms. “She has only fainted, lady,” said the stranger, as he bore the insensible Mrs. Webb towards the rock, from which ran a rill of pure water, with which he gently bathed her face. “Do not be frightened, she will soon revive.” Now that she was no longer alone, Miss De Bracy was less alarmed; but the tones of the fisherman’s voice, his manner and appearance, surprised her, as by the strong light of a full moon she gazed at him. He was a tall, handsome man, much fairer than the generality of the Neapolitans; his attire the same picturesque costume as that of the fishermen, but better, and of finer materials; whilst he spoke pure Italian, but not the Neapolitan dialect. “This is no fisherman,” thought the young girl, as she thanked the stranger, who was holding the pungent essence contained in a bottle to her aunt’s nostrils; who in a very short time was able to continue the walk. Looking up at the motionless figure of the fisherman, Mrs. Webb politely thanked him, and taking a few silver coins from her purse, she begged him to accept them. Her niece’s eyes were fixed upon the stranger; and she saw his dark cheek flush, and his still darker eyes sparkle with a strange expression; but he at once said, gently putting back Mrs. Webb’s hand—