"What! you, dearest Matilda?" he asked, delightedly, "I thought you had long since retired to rest."
"To rest, Gerald!—can you, then, imagine mine is a soul to slumber, when I know that to-morrow we part—perhaps for ever?"
"No, by Heaven, not for ever!" energetically returned the sailor, seizing and carrying the white hand that pressed his own to his lips—"be but faithful to me, my own Matilda—love me but with one half the ardor with which my soul glows for you, and the moment duty can be sacrificed to affection, you may expect again to see me."
"Duty!" repeated the American, with something like reproach in her tone, "must the happiness of her you profess so ardently to love, be sacrificed to a mere cold sense of duty? But you are right—you have your duty to perform, and I have mine. To-morrow we separate, and for ever!"
"No, Matilda—not for ever, unless, indeed, such be your determination. You may find the task to forget an easy one—I never can. Hope—heart—life—happiness—-all are centered in you. Were it not that honor demands my service to my country, I would fly with you to-morrow, delighted to encounter every difficulty fortune might oppose, if, by successfully combating these, I should establish a deeper claim on your affection. Oh, Matilda!" continued the impassioned youth, "never did I feel more than at this moment, how devotedly I could be your slave for ever."
At the commencement of this conversation, Miss Montgomerie had gently led her lover towards the outer gangway of the vessel, over which they both now leaned. As Gerald made the last passionate avowal of his tenderness, a ray of triumphant expression, clearly visible in the light of the setting moon, passed over the features of the American.
"Gerald," she implored earnestly, "oh, repeat me that avowal! Again tell me that you will be the devoted of your Matilda in all things—Gerald, swear most solemnly that you will—my every hope of happiness depends upon it."
How could he refuse, to such a pleader, the repetition of his spontaneous vow? Already were his lips opened to swear, before High Heaven, that, in all things earthly he would obey her will, when he was interrupted by a well-known voice hastily exclaiming:
"Who a debbel dat dare?"
Scarcely had these words been uttered, when they were followed apparently by a blow, then a bound, and then the falling of a human body upon the deck. Gently disengaging his companion, who had clung to him with an air of alarm, Gerald turned to discover the cause of the interruption. To his surprise, he beheld Sambo, whose post of duty was at the helm, lying extended on the deck, while at the same moment a sudden plunge was heard, as of a heavy body falling overboard. The first impulse of the officer was to seize the helm, with a view to right the vessel, already swerving from her course, the second, to awaken the crew, who were buried in sleep on the forecastle. These, with the habitual promptitude of their nature, speedily obeyed his call, and a light being brought, Gerald, confiding the helm to one of his best men, proceeded to examine the condition of Sambo.