As usual, the little girl flew to his side, embracing him with the warmest affection, looking up into his handsome features, with tears in her eyes, saying— “Oh, dear brother! how rejoiced I am to see you alive and well. All last night I could not close my eyes; the terrible noise of the firing, the frightful glare of the flames, seen from our cabin windows, terrified us to death; and I guessed you were in the midst of it all, and I prayed that you might be spared.” “That is quite true, Mr. Thornton,” said Madame Volney, with a sigh; “none of us could sleep, or indeed lie down; the thoughts of the horrors enacting on shore, the misery we knew our poor defenceless countrymen and women were suffering, made our hearts ache; and then, when the boats came alongside with the unhappy fugitives, and we heard their cries and lamentations, our sufferings nearly equalled theirs.” “This dear child did nothing but think of you,” said Mademoiselle Agatha Volney, the youngest daughter, a very pretty and engaging girl, and who looked upon our hero with surprise and admiration, that one so young and so gentle in manner and appearance could be mixed up amid such horrible scenes as the preceding night must have witnessed. “I fear indeed,” observed our hero, “that hundreds of unfortunate Royalists suffered last night, and most unfortunate it was that we were forced to evacuate the town; but with the force remaining at the disposal of the Admiral, it was utterly impossible, I understand, to hold the place.” The conversation then turned upon the future proceedings of the British fleet, and what was to become of the ill-fated fugitives on board the British ships. Madame Volney declared it was her intention to procure a passage to London in some merchant vessel, and proposed to our hero that Mabel should continue with her till she should be claimed by her relatives in England. Poor Mabel could scarcely refrain from tears. “Is there no hope, then,” she anxiously exclaimed, “of hearing some intelligence of my beloved mamma? Oh! are we never to meet again?” “Do not grieve, dear Mabel,” soothingly urged William Thornton; “though we may be baffled here in gaining some trace of her, yet depend on it Jean Plessis, faithful and devoted as he is, will never rest till he comes on the track of those who carried her off. She will know you are safe, and taken to your relatives in England, and, when released herself, she will no doubt seek to reach England to rejoin you.” Mabel listened and sighed. It was a bad prospect for the poor girl; and when William Thornton kissed her, and, with great affection in his manner and tone, bade her and Madame Volney farewell for a time, she burst into a passionate flood of tears, and, running into her berth, hid her face upon her pillow. “She is a most sensitive child,” said Madame Volney’s daughter; “and though only twelve years old, has all the thoughts and feelings of a far maturer age.”