“I have been thinking all the morning,” said the Duchess, rousing herself from her thoughts, “how to act in the painful and trying situation in which I am placed; for no human power could save me were I recognised, or known to be living in this town. Not even to the Royalist party would I venture to show myself, unless, indeed, the British Admiral ultimately gains possession of the town. My chief desire is to secure the safety of my beloved daughter. Come hither, Mabel. I have disguised her, as you see, like a boy. Poor child! she is so attenuated by fretting, confinement, and various other privations, that she appears a mere shadow.” Madame Coulancourt turned, and took her disguised daughter by the hand, the child’s pale face slightly flushed as she saw that William Thornton’s dark eyes were fixed upon her, with an expression of deep interest and surprise. The midshipman thought her plain, even with her large speaking eyes. The Duchess sighed, and the tears ran down her cheeks as she kissed her daughter’s forehead, and then taking her hand, she said:— “Mabel, this young gentleman will be a brother to you. Pray what is your name?” she added, as our hero took the little hand in his, and stooped and kissed her forehead, with the dark hair cut close all round, like a boy’s. “I know not how it is, but I feel a strange spirit of prophecy creeping over me, that tells me you will serve this poor child, who is, as it were, alone in the world. You have a strong likeness, young sir, to some one I dearly loved; but memory is almost dead within me. You will protect my child, I know you will!” “On my soul, madame,” returned William Thornton, with his eyes kindling with all the fire and romance of his enthusiastic disposition—“on my soul, madame, I will do all I can; willingly peril life if necessary to be of service to you or this dear little girl.” The child pressed his hand to her lips, and her eyes full of tears were lifted to his, as she said:— “And Mabel will always be a sister to you, and love you with all her heart.” Prophetic words to her, which were never forgotten. “I had a brother once,” she added; and shuddering she said in a low broken voice, “but they killed him.” Madame Coulancourt drew her daughter towards her; she was weeping, but, checking her feelings and her painful remembrances of terrible moments, now passed, she looked up, saying;—