“Hic et ubique? Then we’ll shift our ground:
Come hither, gentlemen,
And lay your hands upon my sword:
Swear by my sword.”

HAMLET.

“Your name is Ghita,” commenced the Judge Advocate, examining his memoranda “Ghita what?”

“Ghita Caraccioli, Signore,” answered the girl, in a voice so gentle and sweet as to make a friend of every listener.

The name, however, was not heard without producing a general start, and looks of surprise were exchanged among all in the room; most of the officers of the ship who were not on duty being present as spectators.

“Caraccioli,” repeated the Judge Advocate, with emphasis. “That is a great name in Italy. Do you assume to belong to the illustrious house which bears this appellation?”

“Signore, I assume to own nothing that is illustrious, being merely an humble girl who lives with her uncle in the prince’s towers on Monte Argentaro.”

“How happens it, then, that you bear the distinguished name of Caraccioli, signorina?”

“I dare say, Mr. Medford,” observed Cuffe, in English, of course, “that the young woman doesn’t know herself whence she got the name. These matters are managed very loosely in Italy.”

“Signore,” resumed Ghita, earnestly, after waiting respectfully for the captain to get through, “I bear the name of my father, as is usual with children, but it is a name on which a heavy disgrace has fallen so lately as yesterday; his father having been a sight for the thousands of Naples to gaze on, as his aged body hung at the yard of one of your ships.”

“And do you claim to be the grand-daughter of that unfortunate admiral?”

“So I have been taught to consider myself; may his soul rest in a peace that his foes would not grant to his body! That criminal, as you doubtless believe him, was my father’s father, though few knew it, when he was honored as a prince and a high officer of the king’s.”

A deep silence followed; the singularity of the circumstance, and the air of truth which pervaded the manner of the girl, uniting to produce a profound sensation.

“The admiral had the reputation of being childless,” observed Cuffe, in an undertone. “Doubtless this girl’s father has been the consequence of some irregular connection.”

“If there has been a promise or any words of recognition uttered before witnesses,” muttered Lyon, “accordin’ to the laws of Scotland, issue and a few pairtenant expressions will splice a couple as strongly as ye’ll be doing it in England before either of the archbishops.”

“As this is Italy, it is not probable that the same law rules here. Proceed, Mr. Judge Advocate.”

“Well, Ghita Caraccioli if that be your name I wish to know if you have any acquaintance with a certain Raoul Yvard, a Frenchman, and the commander of a private lugger-of-war, called lé Feu-Follet? Remember, you are sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

Ghita’s heart beat violently, and the color came into her face with the impetuosity of sensitive alarm. She had no knowledge of courts, and the object of the inquiry was unknown to her. Then followed the triumph of innocence; the purity of her mind and the quiet of her conscience reassuring her by bringing the strong conviction that she had no reason to blush for any sentiment she might happen to entertain.

“Signore,” she said, dropping her eyes to the floor, for the gaze of all the court was fastened on her face “I am aquainted with Raoul Yvard, the person you mention; this is he who sits between those two cannon. He is a Frenchman, and he does command the lugger called the Feu-Follet.”

“I knew we should get it all by this witness!” exclaimed Cuffe, unable to suppress the relief he felt at obtaining the required testimony.

“You say that you know this of your own knowledge,” resumed the Judge Advocate

“Messieurs,” said Raoul, rising, “will you grant me leave to speak? This is a cruel scene, and rather than endure it rather than give this dear girl the cause for future pain that I know her answers will bring I ask that you permit her to retire, when I promise to admit all that you can possibly prove by her means.”

A short consultation followed, when Ghita was told to withdraw. But the girl had taken the alarm from the countenance of Raoul, although she did not understand what passed in English; and she was reluctant to quit the place in ignorance.

“Have I said aught to injure thee, Raoul?” she anxiously asked “I was sworn on the Word of God, and by the sacred cross had I foreseen any harm to thee, the power of England would not have made me take so solemn an oath, and then I might have been silent.”

“It matters not, dearest the fact must come out in some way or other, and in due time you shall know all. And now, Messieurs” the door closing on Ghita “there need be no further concealment between us. I am Raoul Yvard the person you take me for, and the person that some of you must well know me to be. I fought your boats, Monsieur Cuffe avoided your brûlot, and led you a merry chase round Elba. I deceived the Signor Barrofaldi and his friend the podesta, and all for the love of this beautiful and modest girl, who has just left the cabin; no other motive having carried me into Porto Ferrajo or into this Bay of Naples, on the honor of a Frenchman.”

“Umph!” muttered Lyon, “it must be admitted, Sir Frederick, that the prisoner appeals to a most eligible standard!”

On another occasion national antipathy and national prejudice might have caused the rest of the court to smile at this sally; but there was an earnestness and sincerity in the manner and countenance of Raoul, which, if they did not command entire belief, at least commanded respect. It was impossible to deride such a man; and long-cherished antipathies were rebuked by his spirited and manly declarations.

“There will be no further occasion for witnesses, Mr. Judge Advocate, if the prisoner be disposed to acknowledge the whole truth,” observed Cuffe. “It is proper, however, Monsieur Yvard, to apprise you of the possible consequences. You are on trial for your life; the charge being that of coming on board an English ship in disguise, or rather into the centre of an English fleet, you being an alien enemy, engaged in carrying on open warfare against His Majesty.”

“I am a Frenchman, Monsieur, and I serve my country,” answered Raoul, with dignity.

“Your right to serve your country no one will dispute; but you must know it is against the laws of civilized warfare to act the part of a spy. You are now on your guard and will decide for yourself. If you have anything to say, we will hear it.”

“Messieurs, there is little more to be said,” answered Raoul. “That I am your enemy, as I am of all those who seek the downfall of France, I do not deny. You know who I am and what I am, and I have no excuses to make for being either. As brave Englishmen, you will know how to allow for the love a Frenchman bears his country. As for coming on board this ship, you cannot bring that as a charge against me, since it was at your own invitation I did it. The rites of hospitality are as sacred as they are general.”

The members of the court exchanged significant glances with each other, and there was a pause of more than a minute. Then the Judge Advocate resumed his duties saying;

“I wish you to understand, prisoner, the precise legal effect of your admissions; then I wish them to be made formally and deliberately; else we must proceed to the examination of other witnesses. You are said to be Raoul Yvard, an alien enemy, in arms against the king.”

“Monsieur, this I have already admitted; it cannot honorably be denied.”

“You are accused of coming on board His Majesty’s ship Proserpine disguised, and of calling yourself a boatman of Capri, when you were Raoul Yvard, an alien enemy, bearing arms against the king.”

“This is all true; but I was invited on board the ship, as I have just stated.”

“You are furthermore accused of rowing in among the ships of His Majesty, now lying in the Bay of Naples, and which ships are under the orders of Rear-Admiral Lord Nelson, Duke of Bronte, in Sicily, you being in the same disguise, though an alien enemy, with the intent to make your observations as a spy, and, doubtless, to avail yourself of information thus obtained, to the injury of His Majesty’s subjects, and to your own advantage and that of the nation you serve.”

“Monsieur, this is not so parole d’honneur, I went into the bay in search of Ghita Caraccioli, who has my whole heart, and whom I would persuade to become my wife. Nothing else carried me into the bay; and I wore this dress because I might otherwise have been known and arrested.”

“This is an important fact, if you can prove it; for, though it might not technically acquit you, it would have its effect on the commander-in-chief, when he comes to decide on the sentence of this court.”

Raoul hesitated. He did not doubt that Ghita, she whose testimony had just proved so serious a matter against him, would testify that she believed such was alone his motive; and this, too, in a way and with corroborative circumstances that would carry weight with the, more particularly as she could testify that he had done the same thing before, in the Island of Elba, and was even in the practice of paying her flying visits at Monte Argentaro. Nevertheless, Raoul felt a strong reluctance to have Ghita again brought before the court. With the jealous sensitiveness of true love, he was averse to subjecting its object to the gaze and comments of the rude of his own sex; then he knew his power over the feelings of the girl, and had too much sensibility not to enter into all the considerations that might influence a man on a point so delicate; and he could not relish the idea of publicly laying bare feelings that he wished to be as sacred to others as they were to himself.

“Can you prove what you have just averred, Raoul Yvard?” demanded the Judge Advocate.

“Monsieur I fear it will not be in my power. There is one but I much fear it will not be in my power unless, indeed, I am permitted to examine my companion; he who has already been before you.”

“You mean Ithuel Bolt, I presume. He has not yet been regularly before us, but you can produce him or any other witness; the court reserving to itself the right to decide afterward on the merits of the testimony.”

“Then, Monsieur, I could wish to have Etoo-ell here.”

The necessary directions were given, and Ithuel soon stood in the presence of his judges. The oath was tendered, and Ithuel took it like a man who had done such things before.

“Your name is Ithuel Bolt?” commenced the Judge Advocate.

“So they call me on board this ship but if I am to be a witness, let me swear freely; I don’t wish to have words put into my mouth, or idées chained to me with iron.”

As this was said, Ithuel raised his arms and exhibited his handcuffs, which the master-at-arms had refused to remove, and the officers of the court had overlooked. A reproachful glance from Cuffe and a whisper from Yelverton disposed of the difficulty Ithuel was released.

“Now I can answer more conscientiously,” continued the witness, grinning sardonically; “when iron is eating into the flesh, a man is apt to swear to what he thinks will be most agreeable to his masters. Go on, ’squire, if you have anything to say.”

“You appear to be an Englishman.”

“Do I? Then I appear to be what I am not. I’m a native of the Granite State, in North America. My fathers went to that region in times long gone by to uphold their religious idées. The whole country thereabouts sets onaccountable store by their religious privileges.”

“Do you know the prisoner, Ithuel Bolt the person who is called Raoul Yvard?”

Ithuel was a little at a loss exactly how to answer this question. Notwithstanding the high motive which had led his fathers into the wilderness, and his own peculiar estimate of his religious advantages, an oath had got to be a sort of convertible obligation with him ever since the day he had his first connection with a custom-house. A man who had sworn to so many false invoices was not likely to stick at a trifle in order to serve a friend; still, by denying the acquaintance, he might bring discredit on himself, and thus put it out of his power to be of use to Raoul on some more material point. As between himself and the Frenchman, there existed a remarkable moral discrepancy; for, while he who prided himself on his religious ancestry and pious education had a singularly pliable conscience, Raoul, almost an Atheist in opinion, would have scorned a simple lie when placed in a situation that touched his honor. In the way of warlike artifices, few men were more subtle or loved to practise them oftener than Raoul Yvard; but, the mask aside, or when he fell back on his own native dignity of mind, death itself could not have extorted an equivocation from him. On the other hand, Ithuel had an affection for a lie more especially if it served himself, or injured his enemy; finding a mode of reconciling all this to his spirituality that is somewhat peculiar to fanaticism as it begins to grow threadbare. On the present occasion, he was ready to say whatever he thought would most conform to his shipmate’s wishes, and luckily he construed the expression of the other’s countenance aright.

“I do know the prisoner, as you call him, ’squire,” Ithuel answered, after the pause that was necessary to come to his conclusion “I do know him well; and a master crittur he is when he fairly gets into a current of your English trade. Had there been a Rule Yvard on board each of the Frenchmen at the Nile, over here in Egypt, Nelson would have found that his letter stood in need of some postscripts, I guess.”

“Confine your answers, witness, to the purport of the question,” put in Cuffe, with dignity.

Ithuel stood too much in habitual awe of the captain of his old ship to venture on an answer; but if looks could have done harm, that important functionary would not have escaped altogether uninjured. As he said nothing, the examination proceeded.

“You know him to be Raoul Yvard, the commander of the French privateer lugger, lé Feu-Follet?” continued the Judge Advocate, deeming it prurient to fortify his record of the prisoner’s confession of identity with a little collateral evidence.

“Why I some think” answered Ithuel, with a peculiar provincialism, that had a good deal of granite in it “that is, I kind o’ conclude” catching an assent from Raoul’s eye “oh! yes of that there isn’t the smallest mite of doubt in the world. He’s the captain of the lugger, and a right down good one he is!”

“You were with him in disguise when he came, into the Bay of Naples yesterday?”

“I in disguise, ’squire! What have I got to disguise? I am an American of different callings, all of which I practyse as convenience demands; being a neutral, I’ve no need of disguises to go anywhere. I am never disguised except when my jib is a little bowsed out; and that, you know, is a come-over that befals most seafaring men at times.”

“You need answer nothing concerning yourself that will tend to criminate you. Do you know with what inducement, or on what business, Raoul Yvard came into the Bay of Naples yesterday?”

“To own to you the candid truth, ’squire, I do not,” answered Ithuel, simply; for the nature of the tie which bound the young Frenchman so closely to Ghita was a profound mystery, in all that related to its more sacred feelings, to a being generally so obtuse on matters of pure sentiment.

“Captain Rule is a good deal given to prying about on the coast; and what particular eend he had in view in this expedition I cannot tell you. His a’r’n’ds in shore, I must own, be sometimes onaccountable! Witness the island of Elby, gentlemen.”

Ithuel indulged in a small laugh as he made this allusion; for, in his own way, he had a humor in which he occasionally indulged, after a manner that belonged to the class of which he was a conspicuous member.

“Never mind what occurred at Elba. Prisoner, do you wish to question the witness?”

“Etuelle,” asked Raoul, “do you not know that I love Ghita Caraccioli?”

“Why, Captain Rule, I know you think so and say so but I set down all these matters as somewhat various and onaccountable.”

“Have I not often landed on the enemy’s coast solely to see her and to be near her?”

By this time Ithuel, who was a little puzzled at first to understand what it all meant, had got his cue, and no witness could have acquitted himself better than he did from that moment.

“That you have,” he answered; “a hundred times at least; and right in the teeth of my advice.”

“Was not my sole object, in coming into the Bay yesterday, to find Ghita, and Ghita only?”

“Just so. Of that, gentlemen, there can be no more question than there is about Vesuvius standing up at the head of the Bay, smoking like a brick-kiln. That was Captain Rule’s sole a’r’n’d.”

“I just understood ye to say, witness,” put in Lyon, “and that only a bit since, that ye did not know the prisoner’s motive in coming into the Bay of Naples. Ye called his behavior unaccountable.”

“Very true, sir, and so it is to me. I know’d all along that love was at the bottom of it; but I don’t call love a motive, while I do call it unaccountable. Love’s a feelin’ and not a nature. That’s the explanation on’t. Yes, I know’d it was love for Miss Gyty, but then that’s not a motive in law.”

“Answer to the facts. The court will judge of the motive for itself. How do you know that love for the young woman you mention was Raoul Yvard’s only object in coming into the Bay?”

“One finds out such things by keeping company with a man. Captain Rule went first to look for the young woman up on the mountain yonder, where her aunt lives, and I went with him to talk English if it got to be necessary; and not finding Gyty at home, we got a boat and followed her over to Naples. Thus, you see, sir, that I have reason to know what craft he was in chase of the whole time.”

As all this was strictly true, Ithuel related it naturally and in a way to gain some credit.

“You say you accompanied Raoul Yvard, witness, in a visit to the aunt of the young woman called Ghita Caraccioli,” observed Cuffe, in a careless way that was intended to entrap Ithuel into an unwary answer “where did you go from when you set out on your journey?”

“That would depend on the place one kept his reckoning from and the time of starting. Now, I might say I started from Ameriky, which part of the world I left some years since; or I might say from Nantes, the port in which we fitted for sea. As for Captain Rule, he would probably say Nantes.”

“In what manner did you come from Nantes?” continued Cuffe, without betraying resentment at an answer that might be deemed impertinent; or surprise, as if he found it difficult to comprehend. “You did not make the journey on horseback, I should think?”

“Oh, I begin to understand you, Captain Cuffe. Why, if the truth must be said, we came in the lugger the Few-Folly.”

“I supposed as much. And when you went to visit this aunt where did you leave the lugger?”

“We didn’t leave her at all, sir; being under her canvas, our feet were no sooner in the boat and the line cast off than she left us as if we had been stuck up like a tree on dry ground.”

“Where did this happen?”

“Afloat, of course, Captain Cuffe; such a thing would hardly come to pass ashore.”

“All that I understand; but you say the prisoner left his vessel in order to visit an aunt of the young woman’s; thence he went into the Bay for the sole purpose of finding the young woman herself. Now, this is an important fact, as it concerns the prisoner’s motives and may affect his life. The court must act with all the facts before it; as a commencement, tell us where Raoul Yvard left his lugger to go on yonder headland.”

“I do not think, Captain Cuffe, you’ve got the story exactly right. Captain Rule didn’t go on the mountain, a’ter all, so much to see the aunt as to see the niece at the aunt’s dwelling; if one would eend right in a story, he must begin right.”

“I left lé Feu-Follet, Monsieur lé Capitaine,” Raoul calmly observed, “not two cables’ length from the very spot where your own ship is now lying; but it was at an hour of the night when the good people of Capri were asleep, and they knew nothing of our visit. You see the lugger is no longer here.”

“And do you confirm this story under the solemnity of your oath?” demanded Cuffe of Ithuel, little imagining how easy it was to the witness to confirm anything he saw fit in the way he mentioned.

“Sartain; every word is true, gentlemen,” answered Ithuel. “It was not more than a cable’s length from this very spot, according to my judgment.”

“And where is the lugger now?” asked Cuffe, betraying the drift of all his questions in his eagerness to learn more.

Ithuel was not to be led on so hurriedly or so blindly. Affecting a girlish sort of coyness, he answered, simpering:

“Why, Captain Cuffe, I cannot think of answering a question like that under the solemnity of an oath, as you call it. No one can know where the little Folly is but them that’s in her.”

Cuffe was a little disconcerted at the answer, while Lyon smiled ironically; the latter then took upon himself the office of cross-examining, with an opinion of his own penetration and shrewdness that at least ought to have made him quite equal to encountering one of Ithuel’s readiness in subterfuges.

“We do not expect you to tell us of your own knowledge, witness,” he said, “precisely the position by latitude and longitude, or by the points of the compass, at this identical instant, of the craft called by some the lé Few-Folly, by others the Few-Follay, and, as it would now seem, by yourself, the Little Folly; for that, as ye’ve well obsairved, can be known only to those who are actually on board her; but ye’ll be remembering, perhaps, the place it was agreed on between you, where ye were to find the lugger at your return from this hazardous expedition that ye’ve been making amang ye, into the Bay of Naples?”

“I object to that question as contrary to law,” put in Ithuel, with a spirit and promptitude that caused the Judge Advocate to start, and the members of the court to look at each other in surprise.

“Nay, if ye object to the question on the ground that a true ainswer will be criminating yoursel’, ye’ll be justified in so doing, by reason and propriety; but then ye’ll consider well the consequences it may have on your own case, when that comes to be investigated.”

“I object on gin’ral principles,” said Ithuel. “Whatever Captain Rule may have said on the subject, admitting that he said anything, just to bear out the argument (by the way Ithuel called this word arg_oo_ment, a pronunciation against which we enter our solemn protest); admitting, I, say, that he said anything on the subject, it cannot be testimony, as hearsay evidence is ag’in law all the world over.”

The members of the court looked at the Judge Advocate, who returned the glance with an air of suitable gravity; then, on a motion of Sir Frederick’s, the court was cleared to discuss the point in private.

“How’s this, Mr. Judge Advocate?” demanded Cuffe, as soon as the coast was clear; “it is of the last importance to find where that lugger is do you hold that the question is contrary to law?”

“Its importance makes it pertinent, I think, sir, as for the legality, I do not see how it can be affected by the circumstance that the fact came up in discourse.”

“D’ye think so?” observed Sir Frederick, looking much more profound than was his wont. “Legality is the boast of English law, and I should dislike excessively to fail in that great essential. What is said must be heard, to be repeated; and this seems very like hearsay testimony. I believe it’s admitted all round we must reject that.”

“What is your opinion, Captain Lyon?” demanded the president.

“The case is somewhat knotty, but it may be untied,” returned the Scot, with a sneer on his hard features. “No need of Alexander and his sword to cut the rope, I’m thinking, when we bring common sense to bear on the point. What is the matter to be ascertained? Why, the place which was agreed on as the point of rendezvous between this Rawl Eevart and his people. Now, this arrangement must have been made orally, or in writing; if orally, testimony to the words uttered will not be hearsay, further than testimony to what a man has seen will be eyesight.”

“Quite true, Mr. President and gentlemen!” exclaimed the Judge Advocate, who was not a little relieved at finding a clue to lead him out of the difficulty. “If the agreement had been made in writing, then that writing would have to be produced, if possible, as the best evidence the case affords; but, being made in words, those words can be sworn to.”

Cuffe was much relieved by this opinion, and, as Sir Frederick did not seem disposed to push his dissent very far, the matter would have been determined on the spot, but for a love of disputation that formed part and parcel, to speak legally on a legal subject, of Lyon’s moral temperament.

“I’m agreeing with the Judge Advocate, as to his distinction about the admissibility of the testimony on the ground of its not being technically what is called hearsay evidence,” he observed; “but a difficulty suggests itself to my mind touching the pairtenency. A witness is sworn to speak to the point before the court; but he is not sworn to discuss all things in heaven and airth. Now, is it pairtenent to the fact of Rawl Eevart’s being a spy, that he made sairtain agreements to met this or that fellow-creature, in this or that place? Now, as I comprehend the law, it divides all questions into two great classes, the pairtenent and the impairtenent, of which the first are legal and the second illegal.”

“I think it would be a great piece of audacity,” said Sir Frederick, disdainfully, “for such a fellow as this Bolt to pretend to call any question we can put him, impertinent!”

“That’s no just the p’int, Sir Frederick; this being altogether a matter of law, while ye’ll be thinking of station and etiquette. Then, there’s two classes of the pairtenent, and two of the impairtenent; one being legal and logical, as it might be, and the other conventional and civil, as one may say. There’s a nice distinction, latent, between the two.”

“I believe the court is of opinion that the question may be put,” observed Cuffe, who was impatient of the Scotchman’s subtleties, bowing to Sir Frederick, to ask an acquiescence which he immediately received. “We will re-open the doors, and proceed in the examination.”

“The court is of opinion, witness,” resumed the Judge Advocate, when every one was in his place again, “that you must answer the question. In order that you may understand it, I will now repeat it. Where was it agreed between Raoul Yvard and his people, that they should meet again?”

“I do not think the people of the lugger had anything to say in the matter,” answered Ithuel, in the most unmoved manner. “If they had, I knew nothing on’t.”

The court felt embarrassed; but as it would never do to be thwarted in this manner, a look of determination was exchanged between the members, and the examination proceeded.

“If not the people, the officers, then. Where was it agreed between the prisoner and his officers, that the former should find the lugger, when he returned from his expedition into the Bay?”

“Well, now, gentlemen,” answered Ithuel, turning his quid from one cheek into the other, “I some conclude you’ve no great acquaintance with Captain Rule, a’ter all. He is not apt to enter into any agreements at all. What he wants done, he orders; and what he orders, must be done.”

“What did he order, then, as respects the place where the lugger was to wait for his return?”

“I am sorry to be troublesome, please the court,” returned the witness, with admirable self-possession; “but law is law, all over the world, and I rather guess this question is ag’in it. In the Granite State, it is always held, when a thing can be proved by the person who said any particular words, that the question must be put to him, and not to a bystander.”

“Not if that person is a prisoner, and on his trial,” answered the Judge Advocate, staring to hear such a distinction from such a source; “though the remark is a good one, in the cases of witnesses purely. You must answer, therefore.”

“It is unnecessary,” again interposed Raoul. “I left my vessel here, where I have told you, and had I made a certain signal, the last night, from the heights of St. Agata, lé Feu-Follet would have stood in near to the rocks of the Sirens, and taken me off again. As the hour is passed, and the signal is not likely to be made, it is probable my lieutenant has gone to another rendezvous, of which the witness knows nothing, and which, certainly, I shall never betray.”

There was so much manliness and quiet dignity in Raoul’s deportment, that whatever he said made an impression. His answer disposed of the matter, for the moment at least. The Judge Advocate, accordingly, turned to other inquiries. Little remained, however, to be done. The prisoner had admitted his identity; his capture, with all the attendant circumstances, was in proof; and his defence came next.

When Raoul rose to speak, he felt a choking emotion; but it soon left him, and he commenced in a steady, calm tone, his accent giving point and interest to many of his expressions.

“Messieurs,” said he, “I will not deny my name, my character, or my manner of life. I am a Frenchman, and the enemy of your country. I am also the enemy of the King of Naples, in whose territories you found me. I have destroyed his and your ships. Put me on board my lugger, and I should do both again. Whoever is the enemy of la France is the enemy of Raoul Yvard. Honorable seamen, like yourselves, Messieurs, can understand this. I am young. My heart is not made of rock; evil as it may be, it can love beauty and modesty and virtue in the other sex. Such has been my fate I love Ghita Caraccioli; have endeavored to make her my wife for more than a year. She has not authorized me to say that my suit was favored this I must acknowledge; but she is not the less admirable for that. We differ in our opinions of religion, and I fear she left Monte Argentaro because, refusing my hand, she thought it better, perhaps, that we should not meet again. It is so with maidens, as you must know, Messieurs. But it is not usual for us, who are less refined, to submit to such self-denial. I learned whither Ghita had come, and followed; my heart was a magnet, that her beauty drew after it, as our needles are drawn toward the pole. It was necessary to go into the Bay of Naples, among the vessels of enemies, to find her I loved; and this is a very different thing from engaging in the pitiful attempts of a spy. Which of you would not have done the same, Messieurs? You are braves Anglais, and I know you would not hesitate. Two of you are still youthful, like myself, and must still feel the power of beauty; even the Monsieur that is no longer a young man has had his moments of passion, like all that are born of woman. Messieurs, I have no more to say: you know the rest. If you condemn me, let it be as an unfortunate Frenchman, whose heart had its weaknesses not as an ignominious and treacherous spy.”

The earnestness and nature with which Raoul spoke were not without effect. Could Sir Frederick have had his way, the prisoner would have been acquitted on the spot. But Lyon was skeptical as to the story of love, a sentiment about which he knew very little; and there was a spirit of opposition in him, too, that generally induced him to take the converse of most propositions that were started. The prisoner was dismissed, and the court closed its doors, to make up its decision by itself, in the usual form.

We should do injustice to Cuffe, if we did not say that he had some feeling in favor of the gallant foe who had so often foiled him. Could he have had his will at that moment, he would have given Raoul his lugger, allowed the latter a sufficient start, and then gladly have commenced a chase round the Mediterranean, to settle all questions between them. But it was too much to give up the lugger as well as the prisoner. Then his oath as a judge had its obligations also, and he felt himself bound to yield to the arguments of the Judge Advocate, who was a man of technicalities, and thought no more of sentiment than Lyon himself.

The result of the deliberation, which lasted an hour, was a finding against the prisoner. The court was opened, the record made up and read, the offender introduced, and the judgment delivered. The finding was, “that Raoul Yvard had been caught in disguise, in the midst of the allied fleets, and that he was guilty as a spy.” The sentence was, to suffer death the succeeding day by hanging at the yard-arm of such ship as the commander-in-chief might select, on approving of the sentence.

As Raoul expected little else, he heard his doom with steadiness, bowing with dignity and courtesy to the court, as he was led away to be placed in irons, as befitted one condemned.