Ivanhoe and Scottie were seated in the rear of the pilot house, discussing and dissecting Ingomar’s story.

“What do you think of the story now, sir knight?” inquired Scottie. “Do you like it or not?”

“So, so. Some parts I like, and some I don’t. There’s too much talk of murder in it.”

“Do you think from what you have heard of the story that Miss Bramlett committed the murder?”

“There is no room to doubt it, if we are to judge from the evidence that has come up against her. If Ingomar can get her out of the scrape without flatly contradicting himself, he will be entitled to the premium as the champion storyteller.”

“I agree with you there; because if I were on a jury and such evidence was brought before me, I should say guilty beyond the possibility of a doubt.”

“Well, Scottie, give me your opinion of Lottie.”

“Ah, sir knight! that’s an overdrawn picture. Angels have long since quit visiting the earth. I don’t think I have heard of any being down in this world since Jacob had such a scuffle with them.”

“You are wrong there; they have been here frequently since that affair with Jacob. But let that pass, and tell me what you think of Lottie.”

“She makes a splendid heroine for a story.”

“That may be true; yet it is so pleasant to hear Ingomar talk about her; did you know that somehow or other an idea has got into this head of mine?”

“No, indeed! is that so?”

“Pshaw! You didn’t let me finish the sentence. I was about to remark that somehow an idea had got into my head that you are just like Lottie.”

“Oh! you are badly lost now, for I am a plain, simple girl—just like other girls, only not so pretty; and then I have an awful temper. Oh! you ought to hear me when I am angry.”

“I am truly glad to hear you say so, for I like a high-tempered woman. They make things generally stand round so lively—have the servants walk to a line—keep the floor so clean—set such nice dinners; and then it is so delightful to have a good, jolly quarrel—get up a great row, shed a few tears, and then make friends—then kiss. Oh, that’s the girl for me!”

“You draw one side of the picture very nicely.”

“You can’t frighten me with such an insinuation; but you only increase my anxiety to know more about you. By the by, were you ever in love?”

“Oh, yes! I was dead in love with a fellow once—he was such a darling! and to tell you the truth, I love him yet. He had such a black beard, such black hair, and was so handsome!”

“My hair is black, and so is my beard.”

“I dare say it is. What if it should turn out that it was you, after all! Were you ever in love?”

“Indeed, yes! I loved a pretty girl with dark-brown hair and large gray eyes; and would have married her but for a very trivial little circumstance—she wouldn’t have me.”

“I suppose she didn’t like black hair and a black beard.”

“Well, we didn’t marry, anyway.”

“Suppose, sir knight, you entertain me with a history of your love scrape?”

“I will, on condition that you will follow suit with your little episode, when I am through with mine.”

“All right—I’ll do it.”

“Mine is a short story, but very affecting—and, if you have tears, prepare to shed them now.”

“Well, hold on then till I get out my handkerchief. Here it is now—go on.”

“I was in the city of Jackson, Mississippi, once, attending the Legislature, of which I was a member.”

“Wait a moment till I catch this tear—I think I feel one in my left eye.”

“What have I said that could have started a tear?”

“That you were a member of the Mississippi Legislature—that was the reason your girl refused to marry you.”

“Well, perhaps it was; though I have repented of that; and have promised to go and sin no more in that way; but I am digressing. While I was in Jackson, I was invited by some friends, to join them in a picnic dinner on the beautiful banks of Pearl river. Many lovely women were with the party—one in particular; it was a clear case of love at first sight on my side, and spontaneous indifference on hers. The dinner was magnificent. My girl unloaded a basket. It made my mouth water to watch her pretty little white hands lifting out the nice cake, the luscious jam, the roast turkey, the broiled chicken, the snow-white bread, the great yellow rolls of butter. I fell in love with her and the contents of her basket—and felt like devouring the whole concern then and there. It would have done you good to see the sweet smile she cast on me as she invited me to take a seat by her side and eat with her. I made up my mind to make her an offer of marriage at the first opportunity, and I was very much mortified to learn that three other fellows had determined to do likewise. All three of them had great advantages over me—they were not members of the Mississippi Legislature, and I was—I had to carry too much dead weight. After dinner was over the band began to play a lively tune, and some one proposed a dance; I made a dash toward my girl, with the view of asking her to be my partner in the dance. She smiled sweetly on me, but danced with another fellow. I then took the pouts and refused to dance at all. While the angry fit was on me I wandered off down the banks of the river alone—vowing to cripple somebody before night. When I had fully made up my mind to do it, the next question was, How could I accomplish it without getting crippled myself? I could not for the life of me think of any plan that would enable me to get rid of my rivals without endangering myself; therefore I was forced to abandon the enterprise altogether. But while I was rambling along the bank of the river meditating dire destruction, a young gray squirrel ran across my path, and I caught him and carried him in triumph to the picnic headquarters. My girl cast on me another one of her sweet smiles, as she begged me to give her the pretty, darling little squirrel. I of course forgot my angry fit, and gave it to her; it was but a moment after I had given it into her hand when she uttered a loud scream, and let the little squirrel drop on the ground. The entire party took after the squirrel except me and my girl. I saw the blood streaming from her hand, where the little animal had bitten her. I took off her glove and washed the blood from her hand, then tied it up with my handkerchief. I hid her glove in my bosom, where I have worn it ever since. Here it is now, with the stain of her dear blood on it! Why, Scottie, I declare, you are weeping sure enough! What on earth is the matter?—pray what is it.” (She was weeping—the tears running down her cheeks in a stream.) “Have I said anything to offend you? I did not intend it, if I did.” (It was some time before Scottie became composed—and Ivanhoe was very much astonished at her weeping so.) “I believe I have about finished my narrative. I really did love that girl dearly, but her father did not like me. Now, Scottie, tell me your love affair.”

“You have knocked the foundation from under my story, for you have told it yourself—and I must ask you to give me back my glove. It is mine, and here is the scar made by the bite of the squirrel.”

“Good Heavens! Have I the honor to again meet Miss Kate Darlington?”

“If you will leave out the honor part, I will answer, Yes! And I have the pleasure to meet Captain Ralleigh Burk, I presume.”

“You have guessed my name, at any rate—but was it true, Scottie (pardon me please, but I mean to call you Scottie all the time, for I like it), that you did love me?”

“Oh, you must not ask impertinent questions; you know we were joking when we commenced it.”

“No, I don’t! for I never was more in earnest in all my life. I have kissed this little glove a thousand times; and the dear image of the Pearl river girl has been indelibly stamped on my heart. It has been two years since I last saw you, and it has seemed an age to me. I was sure that you were going to marry that other fellow with the red hair.”

“Oh, no! I detest red hair—and then I never could marry a man unless I loved him. The fact is, it wouldn’t do for me to marry at all, for I have such a temper.”

“Oh, bother the temper! I am willing to risk it. Laying all jokes aside, I love you devotedly, and won’t you promise to be my wife?”

“If I lose my temper and break your head with the broom handle, you won’t beat me?”

“No.”

“If I break up the furniture, while in a passion, you’ll go and buy more?”

“Yes.”

“Very well, I’ll take your case under advisement, and give you an answer when we get back home, provided you don’t conclude to withdraw the proposition before it is too late.”

“See here, Scottie, this is a matter of too much importance to me to be made the subject of a joke; I don’t believe you mean to wound my feelings, yet I had rather you would not use so much levity about it. I loved you at first sight, and meant to ask you then to marry me, but your father seemed to dislike me so that I was afraid.”

“In the first place, Mr. Burk——”

“Pshaw! Scottie, don’t call me Mr. Burk, but call me Ralleigh.”

“If it pleases you, then be it so. Well, Ralleigh Burk, in the first place, I am not joking; and in the second place, you were very much mistaken when you concluded that my father disliked you. He had a supreme contempt for what he called stern-wheel politicians.”

“Oh, yes, I see; and he set me down in his mind as a stern-wheel politician.”

“I don’t say that, mind you, but he looked upon you as the villagers did on the old dog Tray, who was found in bad company. You see how it is, don’t you?”

“I think I do.”

“Well, now, I think my father would forgive you if you could satisfy him that you had quit politics and gone into some legitimate business.”

“Do you, indeed? how kind that would be of him! but suppose I had not quit politics, and that I had not gone into any legitimate business—in fact, suppose it should appear that I have not gone into anything except debt?”

“I think it would prevent your going into our family.”

“Then I suppose he would not object to my going head foremost into the Mississippi river?”

“Oh, by no means; I think he would rather see you do that than to see you in the Mississippi Legislature.”

“And may I ask which catastrophe would be most to your liking?”

“The cold water treatment, by long odds.”

“Thank you. I must say that I admire your candor, but not your sentiment.”

“Spoken like a man; I glory in your grit. You’re on my platform, for I have sworn never to marry a man unless I loved him.”

“Scottie, you are a little darling, and that’s a fact, and I want you to try to love me if you can; and if you can’t, just tell me so, and I’ll either go to the bottom of the river or to the Mississippi Legislature, and never bother you any more.”

“Hold your head down, so I can whisper something in your ear: I don’t think you will have to drown yourself, or go to the Legislature.”

“No? oh, won’t that be jolly! You have removed a mountain from my mind. Let us go dance a while, else I’ll do something foolish.”

“You talk as if you hadn’t been doing that all the evening; but you will excuse me, for I don’t wish to dance. I like to gaze out on the bright water and see the moonbeams dancing on it. I like to feel the soft, balmy air as it kisses my cheeks. I like to feel the gentle motion of the boat, and watch the white waves of steam as they go rolling up from the pipes. It is so sweet to sit here and listen to the soft notes of the music as it comes stealing up from the saloon and mingling with the dull sound of the puffing pipes. I love to listen to the regular clatter of the wheels—they make such pleasant music as they strike the water. The fact is, I am very happy, and could sit here and dream all night, without going to sleep. Oh, these wide-awake day dreams; how delightful they are! I am in one of those dreamy moods now, and wouldn’t exchange that feeling for anything on earth!”

“All right, Scottie; I think I’ll join you in a dream or two; but I am so happy I cannot be still.”

“But you must be still if you remain here. I have made up my mind to have a dream, and don’t mean to be disturbed. There, now, take a seat and let us watch the moon till she passes that cloud yonder.”

“Scottie, let the moon alone; it is a fickle planet, anyway, and I am afraid you will learn its bad habits. If you will do me the honor to take my arm, we will have a stroll. We can quarrel as well while walking as we can while sitting here.”

“I suppose I will have to do it, as there is no getting rid of you. But I want you to tell me if you have made any new discoveries in regard to the black domino?”

“Nothing of any consequence; only it is certain that she is watching Ingomar in such a way as to convince me that she is shadowing him for some purpose. My spy has been very vigilant, but has encountered many difficulties. The black domino seems to be suspicious of every one who approaches her, and positively refuses to be interviewed. When she retires to her state-room she always locks the door, and don’t even let the chamber-maid enter while she is there. This fact alone is enough to convince me that she has a secret. The chamber-maid tells me that she heard the black domino whispering to the old gentleman with the long beard this morning. She was not close enough to hear all that was said, but she heard the woman say that she was determined to end this intolerable suspense very soon. There appeared to be a difference of opinion between the old man and the black domino, and the chamber-maid said she thought that they were quarreling—however, as to that she was not very positive. What do you think it all means, Scottie?”

“Why do you ask me such a question, when you know I am dying of that terrible disease so prevalent among our sex, known as curiosity. What wouldn’t I give to know who and what she is? It seems to me that if the chamber-maid were to try she might find out something.”

“It does look so, but nevertheless she has not done it—that is to say, she has done comparatively nothing; but we have not abandoned the field yet, by a great deal.”

“Anything further from the Mississippi detectives yet?”

“No—only a confirmation of what we have heard heretofore. It is certain that Ingomar is to be arrested as soon as the boat arrives at Vicksburg. I regret to tell you that we shall have to part with him then.”

“I hope he will have time to finish his story before he is arrested. The truth of the matter is, I think it is our duty to tell him all we have heard anyway.”

“No, no; that would not only be aiding a criminal to escape, but it would be to some extent criminal on our part. No; let us have nothing whatever to do with it. But, Scottie, haven’t you told the queen already what you know about Ingomar?”

“No, not a word. I’ll have you to know I am no talebearer. Didn’t I promise you I would keep the secret? Of course I did; and then how dare you ask me such a question?”

“I beg pardon; I ought to be pitched overboard; don’t you think I ought?”

“Certainly I do, and should go about having it done, but it would make all the fish quite ill.”

“Perhaps it would; but I have no idea of being pitched into the river. I know I shall have pleasant dreams to-night, while the dear image of some one will float before my mind.”

Ivanhoe then bade Scottie good-night and retired to his state-room, while his heart swelled with joy. He had at last found a haven of rest for his heart, which for two years had been worrying itself about the beautiful girl from Pearl river.