She was sitting one beautifully fine evening, the last of the calm, beside William Thornton, gazing over the ship’s side at the long line of Spanish coast, not more than two leagues from them, on which the sun was shining brightly, and watching the numerous craft, becalmed, like themselves—some with their lofty latine yards and sails, lying in graceful folds, their crews plying their long sweeps, and creeping gradually along the coast, whilst lying within a mile of them were two Spanish gun-boats, or “guarda costa,” and, some three leagues seaward, two vessels, evidently frigates, but whether English or French they could not make out. “Oh! how different this is, William,” exclaimed Mabel, “from the frightful storm of the last few days. How quiet and beautiful this blue sea looks! and how delightful to catch a glimpse of the land, which, do you know, we all thought we should never see again.” “Ah, Mabel, I dare say you were terribly frightened,” remarked the midshipman, thinking it was very possible that the thin, almost haggard-looking little girl, with her quiet and wonderfully expressive eyes, with the brows so beautifully marked, might turn out a very lovely girl in a few years; “but tell me, dear, now that we have a quiet hour, and our handsome commander is so busy learning French from Mademoiselle Agatha——” “Oh, yes,” interrupted Mabel, with a smile “if he is anxious to learn French, dear Agatha is quite as anxious to learn English, and the Captain is so quick. But what were you going to ask me, William, when I so thoughtlessly interrupted you?” “Why, to tell me all you remember about your little self, and how you came to lose your poor brother, who was not a native of France, and was too young to be mixed up in the political parties which distracted, and still distract that unhappy country, France.” “Ah!” replied Mabel, with a sigh, “I was younger than dear Julian, and yet they would have killed me but for good Monsieur Jean Plessis. When I was very young—too young to remember things well, only mamma has often spoken of that time—we were with mamma’s husband, at his château far away in France, near the sea coast, in Normandy, I think. That château was called Coulancourt, for mamma’s husband possessed other estates besides those near Lyons. Ah! I have heard mamma say we were very happy then. The Duke so loved mamma, and loved us; our own father could not have loved us more. I remember numbers of servants, and attendants, and chasseurs, and the great château of Coulancourt, with its great trees and lawn before it; but mamma said the troubles were coming over France, and the Duke was called to Paris, and we all went with him. Then, after a time, mamma was persuaded to go with us to Lyons, for Paris became dangerous for Royalists, and Lyons was then a great royal city.