"'And I said, my dearest Pard'ner,
Speak, and speak the truth to me;
Trust me, Pard'ner; all the current
Of my being turns to thee.'
"The fact is," she added, abruptly, "I believe you're making up nearly the whole of this!"
"Making it up!" cried Harry. "Me! Why?"
"Why, because such delightful situations never do occur in real life. It's only in fiction."
"No, really, now—it was really so," said Harry. "Why should I make this up? Really, on my honor—"
"Well, you're coloring the facts, at least," said Katie. "If it's all true, I think it's hard on poor people like me, that never can find any pleasant excitement to break the monotony of life. But never mind—please go on."
"Well," continued Harry, "we drifted on for several days. We saw vessels, but they were too far away to see us. At last we came in sight of land, and there we were picked up by a boat that took us to Leghorn. I then went on with Miss Talbot to Rome. I learned that we were the only ones that had been saved out of the ill-fated steamer. Miss Talbot's father, who, as I said, was an invalid, had heard the news, and, thinking his daughter lost, sank under the blow. On our arrival at Rome he was dead. It was a mournful end to our journey.
"He was buried in Rome. Miss Talbot returned to England with an English family, with whom her father had been acquainted. I did not intrude on her just then, but paid her a visit afterward. At that time we came to an understanding, and then I went back to Barcelona. And now I come to the real point of my story—the thing that I was going to tell you."
"Oh, I'm so very much obliged," said Katie, "for what you've told me thus far!"
"Now, Miss Talbot, you must know, has very few relatives. She's the last of an ancient family, and one or two uncles and aunts are all that are left besides herself. Her life has been by no means gay, or even cheerful, and perhaps that was one reason why she was willing to accept me."