"Well, my dear, since Helen won't have him, you can't do better than take pity on him yourself."

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Mackenzie," said Mrs. Montresor, scornfully; "Geraldine Montresor CAN do better than to accept the refused of Miss Helen Ludlow."

"I am very glad to hear that she can," said Mrs. Mackenzie, in a provoking manner peculiar to herself. "I think I have heard you, Mrs. Montresor, say that Lionel Seymour was now the best match in the island.” Mrs. Montresor could not deny her own words, and Mrs. Mackenzie, having enjoyed a triumphant laugh, passed to another subject.

"There were two grand balls in town last night, I understand-two rival balls."

"Indeed," replied Mrs. Montresor; "I heard nothing of them. I was told, however, I think, that those people, the Hugginses, were going to have 'a dance,' as they call it, some night this week; but we do not visit them. Was one of the balls at their house?"

"Bless you, no! They were a coloured and a negro ball. A good many gentlemen went on the sly to the coloured ball. Mr. Tobin, as Edgar, one of our footmen, is called among his acquaintances, was at the negro ball, and also his sister Miss Delilah, my waiting-maid. He, with his black silk stockings and perfumed pocket-handkerchief, she with her coloured gauze dress, kid shoes (they don't wear satin shoes yet), fan, and artificial flowers in her hair."

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"I thought," said Geraldine, "that female negroes did not like to be seen with their heads uncovered. They always look much out of countenance if you catch them for a moment without the usual handkerchief." They do not like white people to see them without their handkerchiefs, but some of them go to their balls with heads uncovered. The gay-coloured handkerchiefs, however, which they generally wear, when twisted on tastefully, are much more becoming to them than the exposure of their woolly hair, however laden with ornament."

"What kind of refreshments do they have at their balls ?"

"Oh, the best of everything, especially the negroes. They have cold turkey, guinea-birds, chickens, ham, tongue, cakes richly iced and decorated, fruits, and wine and spirits. There is no lack of good things, depend upon it, my dear, among the negroes, though they are the objects of such deep commiseration to the folks at home. I don't believe our negroes would change places with the poor operatives in the crowded factories among them. But I have made you quite a visitation, and I must bid you good-by, for I have promised to take up Mr. Thornley at Peter Maxwell's at three o'clock. By-the-by," continued the talkative Mrs. Mackenzie, reseating herself, "speaking of Maxwell, Miss Montresor, you have mortally offended him."

Mrs. Montresor looked aghast, and Geraldine calmly answered that she had not the pleasure of knowing him, therefore could not have been the person who offended him.

Ay, but it was you.

You danced with him at Clare Hall the other evening, and you called the poor little man nothing but Mr. Prog' the whole time."

“Geraldine !" ejaculated Mrs. Montresor, in a tone of horror.

"I danced with a short gentleman who had been pointed out to me as Mr. Peter Prog. I was not attending particularly when he was introduced to me and not having caught his name, I called him, of course, by the name I had heard was his."

“Ha-ha-ha! Then you did not intend to quiz him when you called him Prog? That is poor Peter's nickname, and very sore he is about it. In fact, he is much more frequently called Peter Prog than Peter Maxwell-but people don't exactly use it to his face. The negroes made a song upon him last Christmas, and some of them sung it under his own gallery. It was:

"I detest nicknames," said Geraldine, "and was innocent of any intentional rudeness to Mr. Maxwell. But why has he been dubbed Prog?'

"Because he is always on the look-out for good dinners at other people's houses, and is very stingy at his own table. He often calls so near the dinner-hour, that an invitation to stay becomes a matter of necessity."

"He should have flourished," said Mrs. Montresor, "in those unsophisticated days, and in that little island, when and where the person who slaughtered a sheep, or caught a turtle, hoisted a flag, or fired a gun, a due time before the hour of dinner, by way of an invitation to his neighbours, far and near, to come and partake of the good cheer."

"Such extensive hospitality would not suit us now-a-days," said Mrs. Mackenzie; "we cannot even afford the Christmas festivities for the negroes on the scale that we used to do. You will be surprised at a negro Christmas, Miss Geraldine. The holidays last generally for two or three days, during which time nothing goes on but eating and drinking, dancing and singing: the latter with all the strength of their stentorian voices. Their songs are sometimes very satirical. I must just tell you the words of Buddy Quow,' though they are not very refined, and perhaps they may be scarcely comprehensible to you:

* This and some other negro songs popular in many of the islands were composed by Mr. S-1 M-t-s, of Creole celebrity-a Buckra whose skill in singing negro songs rendered him a great favourite among the Blacks.

He yeye-he nose—he mout—
(Me hab greate mind fu hit 'um)
He tan-me no sabey how-
Like Obisha been spit 'um
Out o' he mout!
True Granjay!

Obisha means overseer, my dear; and

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"Oh, pray do not enter into explanations of this negro song, Mrs. Mackenzie," said Mrs. Montresor, interrupting her; "you must excuse me for saying so, but I do not think the words are at all fit for a lady's mouth."

"I forgot your extreme particularity, dear Mrs. Montresor. I really beg a thousand pardons-I am afraid I have given you as many shocks to-day as if I had been an electric eel. By-the-by, you can't think how frightened the negroes were at that electric eel which was shown at Mr. Brown's store. They thought it was his Satanic Majesty himself who had assumed that disguise, as they plunged their arms into the creature's tub, and received the shocks. There was such a shrieking and yelling! But I am forgetting poor Thornley, who will be out of patience with Peter Maxwell's prosing by this time; so good-by-good-by!" And Mrs. Mackenzie betook herself to her carriage, satisfied that she had left untold none of the gossip she had been gathering for the last few days.

VII.

ONE evening, a few weeks after Mrs. Mackenzie's gossiping visit and undesired communications, Geraldine had arranged to ride with Mrs. Temple to see some very fine rocky scenery at a solitary part of the island called Carib Bay, because tradition had pointed out this place as having been the spot where the followers of Columbus had effected a landing on the beautiful island, which, until discovered through the enterprising genius of one European, and invaded through the grasping cupidity of many, had slept in tranquil repose and happy security amidst the sparkling waters of that magnificent ocean, whose remoter bounds were, till then, unknown to the busy multitudes of the Eastern and Northern world. At this little secluded bay the Spaniards were said to have landed, notwithstanding the resistance offered to them by the astonished Caribs, headed by the courageous Indian female who was at that time the cacique or ruler of the island.

It was a bold coast, skirted by rocks of fantastic forms, interspersed with little patches of bright, dry, hard sand, whilst an almost perpendicular hill rose above, along the side of which were wider and narrower masses of stone jutting out over the bay beneath, down which a sloping zig-zag path, smooth in some places, rough in others, led down to the narrow beach. This path, which was tolerably broad near the brow of the hill, became narrower and narrower as it descended towards the shore; and though not absolutely dangerous to any one who traversed it cautiously, even on horseback, while there was light to see the way, would have been an insecure promenade in the dark.

Geraldine was ready to go, and her horse was standing at the door waiting for her, when a message came from Mrs. Temple to say that she

was unavoidably prevented from keeping her appointment that evening. Mr. Montresor being from home, the ladies had dined early, that the equestrians might get away in good time, and Geraldine was so disappointed at losing the anticipated pleasure of a ride to Carib Bay, that even Mrs. Montresor, for once, forgot her prudence, and allowed her to go alone, attended, of course, by a trusty black servant on horseback.

She enjoyed the canter along the well-kept country road excessively, and was delighted with the refreshing breeze as they passed over the table-land which crowned the hill above the only part of the island that was fraught with historical recollections. Still more pleased she was as, directed by Paris-who could not be accused of being so handsome as his namesake of Homeric celebrity-she entered on the sloping path that was to take her to the picturesque rocks beneath. She was obliged, however, to walk her horse, for the road, besides having several sharp turns, was encumbered with loose stones, through which the animal had to pick its way. But she had scarcely proceeded half way down when the sky became suddenly overcast, the wind arose, and the sea below looked dark and troubled.

"It is going to rain, I think," she said to Paris; "perhaps we had better turn and go back."

But just there it was not so easy to turn, for the path was extremely narrow; therefore Paris advised their going a little way farther down, where "p'raps de road might come wider !" But it did not "come wider,” and the threatened storm soon burst over them in all its violence. It seemed, in the emphatic language of the seventy-seventh Psalm, that "the clouds poured out water, the air thundered, the lightnings shone upon the ground." It was with difficulty that Geraldine could keep her seat on horseback; she was almost blinded by the lightning and the rain, while the sudden fierce gusts of wind nearly blew her slight form off the saddle, and the path had become so wet and plashy, from the torrents that were coming down like waterspouts from the skies, that the poor horses slipped at every step.

"Don't let us go a foot farther," she said to the dripping Paris; we may be carried over the precipice if we do."

"But, missis, we no can tan here all night, wid de tunder roaring, and de lightning bleazing, and de wind blowing one hurricane, and de reane falling enough to drown de eart like de Flood in de Bible."

"In spite of all that, there is nothing for it but to wait here awhile," replied the young lady. "Keep your horse as quiet as you can, Paris." But Paris could neither keep himself nor his horse quiet; the latter kept starting, and shivering, and throwing up its head, while Paris jumped about in his saddle, and gazed by turns down at the now boiling ocean, and up towards the desolate-looking cliffs, as if he had hoped that help would come from one or other.

In the midst of her perplexity, Geraldine could not help smiling, as she thought: "Poor Paris! he is looking out as if he believed in sea-nymphs, or the fairies called hill people,' or gnomes, dwelling among these dreary rocks, for it is quite certain that no human being will seek this wild spot in such weather." But just as the thought passed through her mind, Paris shouted:

"Missis! a gentleman riding fast, fast, up yander! I tink he see us, and yes, ma'am, he coming down!"

Geraldine stretched her neck to look up, and presently she saw a horseman dashing down the zig-zag road at a furious pace. Who could he be ? Not her father, for he was dining at the other end of the island, and was to stay there that night. Possibly Mrs. Mackenzie, who lived on the nearest estate to Carib Bay, had heard of her intended excursion that evening, and when the storm came on had sent Mr. Thornley to her rescue. Whoever the horseman was he rode incautiously, and with such frightful speed down that steep and unprotected road, that Geraldine feared, in one of the sudden sharp turns, both horse and rider would go over the precipice, and be dashed on the rocks below. She forgot herself in her terror about the unknown rider, and her heart beat violently as she listened for the clatter of the horse's hoofs, which was now heard distinctly, and then seemed to subside into silence. At length the sound came nearer, the horseman was galloping round an angle in the rocky path; in another moment he had sprung from his saddle, and was leading his horse down the steep declivity. Geraldine pushed back the wet hair that had partly escaped from under her riding-hat, and was blown by the wind almost over her eyes, and, to her great amazement, beheld at her side Mr. Le Vasseur!

"What a frightful storm for you to be out in, and among these lonely rocks, dear Miss Montresor!" he exclaimed.

“Thank Heaven you are safe!" she almost gasped. "I feared the daring horseman, who was coming so rapidly down yon terrible road, would have been hurled over into the abyss below."

Le Vasseur smiled, pleased at the interest she had taken in him, even though, at the time, he was unknown to her. He told her that as he was riding hurriedly over the hill above, having also been caught in the sudden storm, he had met a negro, who informed him that Miss Montresor had just gone down the path towards Carib Bay. He knew, he said, that there were some dangerous passes in the neglected road to the beach, and he hastened after her, in the hope, if she required any assistance, of being able to render it to her.

Geraldine, of course, returned him the thanks he deserved, but at the same time she regretted that he had taken so much trouble on her account. The storm, meanwhile, instead of diminishing, was increasing, and Le Vasseur expressed his anxious wish to find some shelter for her. There was a cavern in the rock, he said, a little way farther down, and if she would allow him to lead her horse he thought she might reach it safely. He then desired Paris to dismount, and lead down the other two horses; but Paris was more inclined to trust to his horse's footing than his own, therefore sturdily maintained his seat. However, Mr. Le Vasseur soon settled the matter, for, approaching the negro, he promised him, in a low voice, a handsome douceur if he would do as he was bid.

What will not money buy? It secured the obedience of the sable attendant; and while Mr. Le Vasseur led Geraldine's horse carefully down the narrow path, Paris followed at a respectful distance with his more troublesome charges.

"Here is the cave, Miss Montresor," said Le Vasseur, as he stopped her palfrey near to an opening in the rock, which a vivid flash of lightning rendered distinctly visible. Geraldine put up her hand to shade her eyes from the overpowering glare of the lightning, and at the same moment Mr. Le Vasseur, with a "Permit me, there is no time to lose,"