That evening, just as the sun was setting, I saw Emily again, for the
first time since she had stood leaning over the rail as the Crisis
shot through the inlet of the lagoon. The poor girl was pale, and it
was evident, while she could not but rejoice at her liberation, and
her release from the solicitations of the unfortunate Le Compte, that
his death had cast a shade of sadness over her pretty features. It
could not well be otherwise, the female breast ever entertaining its
sympathies for those who submit to the influence of its owner's
charms. Then, poor Le Compte had some excellent qualities, and he
treated Emily, as she admitted to me herself, with the profoundest
respect, and delicacy. His admiration could scarce be an offence in
_her_ eyes, however disagreeable it proved, in certain points of
view.
Our meeting partook of the character of our situation, being a mixture
of melancholy and happiness. I rejoiced in our success, while I
regretted Marble, and even our late enemies, while the Major and his
daughter could not but remember all the gloomy particulars of their
late, and, indeed, of their present position.
"We seem to be kept, like Mahomet's coffin, sir," Emily observed, as
she looked affectionately at her father, "suspended between heaven and
earth--the Indies and America--not knowing on which we are to
alight.
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