"Yes, quite well. Don't make a scene,
Cesare! I will go into my room for a
smelling bottle, and come back directly."

"Can I not ring for Louise?"

"No. Stay here."

And Veronica, with a murmured apology
to Sir Matthew, glided out of the room.

"Is anything the matter with Lady—
with your—with the lady?" asked Sir
Matthew.

Cesare, left alone with the two Englishmen,
felt himself called upon to make a
great conversational effort. He inflated
his chest slowly, and answered:

"She—went—for—some—salt."

"Eh?" exclaimed Sir Matthew, staring
at him.

"English salt. Sale inglese. Come si
dice?"

In his despair Cesare raised his closed
fist to his nose, and gave a prolonged sniff.

"Aha!" said Mr. Davis, with a shrewd
air. "To be sure ; smelling salts. Eh?
Headache?"

"Yes: eddekke."

"Poor lady! She has been a good deal
excited. Her position is a very trying
one."

"Very well," said Cesare, a good deal to
Sir Matthew's bewilderment. But Cesare
merely intended an emphatic affirmative.

Sir Matthew would have liked to strike
into the conversation himself, but was
withheld by an embarrassing ignorance of
the proper form in which to address
Barletti. He could not certainly call him
"your highness," and while he was
deliberating on the propriety of saying sênior
—which was his notion of pronouncing the
Italian for "sir"—Veronica returned.

She looked a changed creature. Her
cheeks were flushed, and her eyes
extraordinarily lustrous.

"Hope you're better, ma'am," said Sir
Matthew.

"Thank you. I have been suffering a
little from headache. But it is not severe.
I must have patience. My nerves have
been greatly shattered."

Her tone was so plaintive, and her face
so beautiful, as she said this, that Sir
Matthew began to feel a rising indignation
against his dead cousin, who could find it
in his heart to deceive so charming a
creature.

"I—I hope it will come right for you,"
he said. "I do, upon my soul!"

"I only ask for justice, Sir Matthew. I
have undergone great and unmerited suffering.
But on that topic my lips are sealed."

Sir Matthew thought this very noble,
and looked at Mr. Davis for sympathy.
But the attorney was gazing at Veronica,
with eyes in whose expression admiration
was blended with a kind of watchful
curiosity.

By the time the visit was brought to a
close the new baronet was completely
converted into a partisan of "his cousin's
widow," as he now markedly entitled her.

"She's not at all the sort of person I had
expected," he said to Mr. Davis, as they
walked away together.

"Is she not, Sir Matthew?"

"And that cousin of hers—I suppose he
is really a prince, eh?"

"I suppose so—an Italian prince."

"Yes, of course. Well, it isn't for the
sake of the share of the money that would
come to me—I've got the entailed estate,
and no thanks to my Cousin John, either!
He would have left it away from me if
he could. No, it isn't for that; but I do
hope her marriage will turn out to be all
right."

"It cannot be long before we know, Sir
Matthew."

"Well, I do hope it will come right for
her. My Cousin John behaved shamefully
to her. He did his best to spite his own
family into the bargain. And I don't mind
saying that I should be glad if it turned
out to be a case of the biter bit. Only," he
added, after a minute's pause, during which
he grew almost frightened at his own
incautious tone, "only, of course we mustn't
go and be rash, and get ourselves into any
trouble. A will's a will, you know."

"Why that is just what remains to be
seen, Sir Matthew."

CUBAN PIRATES.

A TRUE NARRATIVE.

MY name is Aaron Smith. I first went
to the West Indies, in 1830, on board the
merchant ship Harrington. Subsequent
events induced me to resign my situation
in that vessel, and devote myself to other
pursuits. Two years in that part of the
world impairing my health, I became
anxious to see my family again, and, being
then at Kingston, I entered myself as first
mate on board the merchant brig Zephyr,
waiting for freight to London.

Towards the latter end of June we had
completed our cargo, and taken on board
our passengers: consisting of a Captain
Cowper, five or six children, and a black
nurse. Mr. Lumsden, the master, was