The Prince Corsair, or, The three brothers of Guzan a tale of the Indian Ocean |
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[FROM “THE FLAG OF OUR UNION.”]
BLANCHETTE ROSO. |
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 | The Prince Corsair, or, The three brothers of Guzan |  |
[FROM “THE FLAG OF OUR UNION.”]
BLANCHETTE ROSO.
BY H. N. HATHAWAY.
Sweet Blanchette, beautiful Blanchette Roso;
how many admiring eyes followed her as she
tripped lightly along the pavings of Myrtle Street,
clad in a cheap but delicate print, with a coarse
muslin mantle falling from her shoulders, and
her wide brimmed straw hat tied with broad
green ribbons. After promenading Broadway,
and seeing the crowd of fashionables, it was
really refreshing to look upon a child of nature,
and I felt loth to lose sight of her, as she entered
the extensive millinery establishment of the well
known Miss Fanny Hooper.
“Miss Hooper,” said one of the girls, “there
is the new apprentice waiting at the counter.”
“Please miss, step into the lobby and lay off
your things,” said the lady addressed, in a shrill
voice; “and be quick, for we're in a great drive.”
The color on Blanchette's cheek brightened,
as she obeyed this imperious command.
Some twenty girls were busily employed in
the sewing-room, and as she entered, they involuntarily
paused, and gazed upon the young and
beautiful stranger.
“Come girls,” said Miss Hooper, tartly,
“we've no time for dallying—the work promised
must be done, if you don't leave it till
morning. Here,” she continued, motioning
Blanchette to a seat near her, “is a piece of
work, and now let's see what sort of hand you
are with a needle, miss what's your name?”
“Blanchette,” was the timid reply.
“Blanchette! what a horrid name. I must
think of some way to shorten it, child.”
“They sometimes call me Blanche, at home,”
said Blanchette, raising her eyes for the first
time to Miss Hooper's face.
“O dear, worse yet. That's altogether too
sickening! Now I have it. I'll call you 'Chette.
Mind, now, don't forget that's your shop name.
You hear it girls, do you?”
“I say it is too mean,” whispered Susan Emery
to her companion, “to call her by that ugly
name, when Blanchette or Blanche are both so
beautiful.”
“What's that, Susan?” queried Miss Hooper.
“I said it seemed a pity to call her by so disagreeable
a name, when her own was so sweet.”
“Silence,” said Miss Hooper, striking her
foot peremptorily upon the floor.
“A pretty pass is this, that you should attempt
to dictate me. I'm mistress here, and intend to
be, at least for the present, and it's my will that
of it you're at liberty to use as many pet names
as you please.”
Poor, poor little Blanchette! Down drooped
her long, silken lashes until they rested on her
burning cheek, while tear after tear coursed their
way from beneath them. She had long been
looking forward with delight to the time when
she should enter upon her new employment, and
now, alas, a rough hand had razed her gilded
air castles to the ground. Ah, Blanchette, this
is but one of the bitter lessons thou hast yet to
learn.
An aristocratic customer now came in, and
Miss Hooper paused for a moment before the
mirror to arrange her curls, then with a face covered
in smiles, entered the front shop and greeted
Mrs. L. in blandest tones.
“Let me assist you a little,” said Ellen Brooks,
a meek-eyed, fair-haired girl. “There, put your
needle through the tarleton in that way, and you
will find that the tucks will look much nicer.”
“O thank you,” said Blanchette, smiling
through tears. “I'm so very awkward, I should
not have wondered, had you been tempted to
laugh at me.”
“We would not be guilty of such a meanness,”
replied the impulsive, warm-hearted Susan Emery.
“We've been through the mill ourselves,
and know how to feel for the embarrassment of
a new apprentice. I suppose you think Miss
Hooper rather over-bearing,” she continued, in
a lower tone, “but you'll get used to it after a
time. I thought when I first came here, I could
not stay a week, but she gives extra wages, and
I knew it was my duty to earn what I could on
account of the assistance it would be to my poor
sick mother. So I get along in the best way I
can with her whims and oddities.”
“Then you have a sick mother, too,” replied
Blanchette, with a commiserating glance. “Four
years ago my dear father died, and since that
time, with my assistance, mother has supported
herself and my younger brother and sister—Fran
cois and Gabriella—by embroidering. But of late
her eyes have become so poorly she has not been
able to work, and I shall be only too happy to
assist her. I've never been out among strangers
much, and I suppose I must not look for the
same treatment as at home.”
The conversation was now interrupted by
Miss Hooper's approaching footsteps. A few
words of kindness and encouragement had done
their work upon Blanchette, for her face wore its
usual sunny expression, while her small dimpled
fingers were rapidly flying over the blue tarleton
lining. And now it was finished and handed to
Miss Hooper for inspection.
“That will do very well,” said the lady, after
scrutinizing it closely. “Now see what you will
do with this crape one.”
“She likes her work first rate,” whispered
Susan Emery, “or she would not trust her with
that rich, rose-colored crape. Why don't she
tell her so, and encourage the child? I don't
believe she's a day over sixteen.”
Most of the girls lived so far from home that
they took their dinners to the shop, and during
their employer's absence, the following conversation
took place.
“Well, I should think Miss Hooper staid well
this noon,” said Ellen Brooks. “It's nearly
two hours since she left.”
“She's expecting the new minister this afternoon,
I rather think,” replied one of the girls.
“Then, Blanchette,” said Susan Emery,
“you'll have an opportunity to see Miss Hooper
with her Sunday face on. She'll be so good and
gentle! It's fun to watch her. ` 'Tis look here,
dear,' and `look there, dear—please to do thus
and so—this work does not quite suit me,—pray
be a little more careful, next time,' etc., etc. I
wish to my heart Mr. Manson would take up
his abode with us, his presence has such a wonderful
effect upon her. I'd like first rate to tell
him how she plans to tend the social circle, and
the young ladies' prayer-meeting, and everything
of that sort; wouldn't I! I guess his next discourse
would be headed with, `Charity begins
at home.' ”
“I suppose he little thinks when commending
Miss Hooper's self-denying zeal, that owing to
it, we girls have to stay till near midnight, to finish
promised work, and then go home alone
through the streets of this large city,” said Janet
Wood. “But there she is.”
“Come girls, we must bend on now, but when
Mr. Manson comes we'll `soger' a little,” remarked
Susan Emery, with a comical smile.
“O, no use in that,” replied a pale, sickly looking
girl, “we'll only have to stay the later.”
“See, she has on her white muslin and rosebuds
in her hair,” said Ellen Brooks. “I never
saw her look so prettily.”
“Well girls,” said Miss Hooper, as with one
glance she took in the several pieces of work,
“seems to me you've not made much progress
since I left. Here Chette,” she continued, “you'll
good shape, and quickly too.”
Blanchette obeyed with evident embarrassment,
but the girls now and then ventured a suggestion,
and with their assistance, she succeeded better
than her expectations. Already had she learned
to look upon her shopmates in a friendly light.
Miss Hooper's distant and forbidding manners
had knit their hearts together as a band of sisters.
There was one exception however, to this
rule. Helen Hastings had seemed ever since her
entrance into the shop, to have more sympathy
with her employer than with her companions,
and the girls had become convinced that she
was artful and de igning; and that this conjecture
was well founded was afterwards proved.
Blanchette had but just finished her task and
resumed her sewing when Mr. Manson entered.
Miss Hooper with her own hands placed her elegant
stuffed rocker by the shadiest window and
drew the ottoman before it.
“Well, really this is very comfortable, Miss
Hooper,” said the young pastor, as he seated
himself with a satisfied air. “I hardly know
how I shall repay you, for so many kindnesses.”
“O don't mention such a thing, Mr. Manson,”
said Miss Hooper, coloring slightly. “I think
you have been more successful in your studies
than usual,” she continued, glancing at her gold
repeater, “for you're an hour earlier than usual.”
Mr. Manson did not choose to tell how large a
portion of unwritten manuscript he had left on
his table, nor how, as he stood at his window that
morning, he had caught a glimpse of Blanchette's
sunny face, and during the duties of the day
ever and anon it had flitted before him. We will
not pretend to say how much curiosity to look
upon the young stranger had influenced him to
hasten the time for his call, but this we do know,
that since his entrance, his eye had rested upon
her with so unmistakable a look of admiration,
as to attract Miss Hooper's notice and that of
the girls. Blanchette was the only one who
seemed unconscious of the fact.
“Come, Mr. Manson,” said Miss Hooper,
“I'm just in the mood to listen to some of Milton's
sublime words. Will you not read to us?”
“With pleasure,” was the reply of Mr. Manson,
as he took the proffered volume, and opening
it commenced reading Eve's relation to Adam
of her troublesome dream, of his striving to comfort
her, and of his success, then of their pausing
in the door of their bower to offer their morning
hymn of praise before going forth to their labors.
Miss Hooper's theatrical looks and expression
were quite in accordance with the scene,
but one glance at Blanchette's face was worth
them all. During the early part of the reading,
the warm color came and went over her cheek,
and her bosom heaved with suppressed emotion.
But when he commenced the morning prayer,
forgetful of all around her, she let fall her work
and with her small hands clasped and eyes devoutly
raised to heaven, she sat the beautiful
personification of purity—a fit type of the divino
Madonna. The falling of her work recalled her
wandering mind, and with a look of distressed
embarrassment she recommenced her task. Poor
Blanchette, child of Nature that thou art, hadst
thou known the malignant hatred that that one
simple, unstudied act called forth, perehance thou
wouldst have schooled thy young heart to shut
up the gushing fount of feeling in its secret
chambers.
Mr. Manson's calls became more and more
frequent, but somehow Miss Hooper usually
planned to send Blanchette on some errand, or
keep her busy, in waiting on customers, or something
of the sort during his visits, and though
she would fain have enjoyed his society in company
with the rest, she thought not in her simplicity
of anything intentional in her being debarred
this privilege.
One evening Miss Hooper had detained the
girls until a later hour than usual. Blanchette
was hastening homeward with trembling footsteps,
when she was arrested by two young men in a
state of partial intoxication, who declared their
intention of accompanying her. In vain the
poor girl assured them she did not need, or wish
their services. They still persisted, and finally
the one, bolder, drew her arm within his, and
was hurrying along with her, when a stout arm
arrested his progress, and a manly voice bade
him begone. Blanche turned to look upon her
protector, and beheld Mr. Manson. The grateful
girl was so overcome with this unlooked for
relief, that for a time she could do nothing but
weep her thanks. Mr. Manson with brotherly
kindness strove to reassure her, and she became
at length sufficiently composed to converse. In
answer to his inquiry, as to where she attended
church, she informed him that of late they had
become so straitened in their circumstances, they
had not been, but that her mother and herself
had passed the Sabbath in reading books of a
serious nature, repeating Bible stories to Gabriella
and Francois, and teaching them to sing.
to supply them with a seat in the church
where he officiated, and the next Sabbath found
the grateful family there.
This was a fortunate meeting for Blanchette,
for after it Mr. Manson befriended her in many
ways. Often would he call of an evening when
she was not in the shop, and assist her in her
studies, accompanying her voice while she sung,
play a game at romps with the sprightly Gabriella
and the high-spirited Francois. Then when
she and her mother were busy with their needles,
he would read to them, and at last his name came
to be a household word with them all, and his
coming a prospect to be hailed with delight.
Though Blanchette had learned to feel perfect
freedom with him when at home, in Miss Hooper's
presence she seemed embarrassed and reserved,
and one would have thought them almost
strangers. Miss Hooper was all kindness to
Blanchette during Mr. Manson's presence, but
at other times she was very exacting, and though
the poor girl strove in every way to satisfy, it
was seldom she had the pleasure of knowing she
had succeeded. Her employer seldom mentioned
Mr. Manson to her, yet it was evident that many
of the circumstances of his befriending her were
known. Often was the sensitive girl made to
shrink by the coarse jokes of Helen Hastings, with
which Miss Hooper seemed but too well pleased.
Time wore on without any important changes,
save that Blanchette had completed her trade.
As she was more than commonly expert with
her needle, she received extra wages, and had the
happiness of being more assistance to her mother
than ever before. Gabriella and Francois both
attended an excellent day school, and as Blanchette
watched their happy faces and listened
to their earnest voices as they pursued their
studies of an evening at home, she felt doubly
repaid for all her self-denying labor. But a cloud
was about to overshadow their peaceful home.
Heaven help them!
One afternoon during one of Mr. Manson's
calls, Miss Hooper took out her watch to look at
the time, when she discovered that the key was
missing. With a look of great consternation
she commenced searching for it, exclaiming:
“Where is my key? Can any one tell me
anything about it?”
“I suppose I might if I chose to do so, but I
cannot bear to expose any one, more especially
my companions,” said Helen Hastings.
“In such a case as this,” replied Miss Hooper,
“I think it your duty to do so. The key has a
diamond of value in it, and besides it was a
present from a dearly loved uncle. Mr. Manson,
is it right for her to refuse?”
“I should think not, under existing circumstances,”
he replied. “Remember, Miss Hastings,
by the simple remark you made, you implicated
all your companions, and justice to them
if nothing more demands an explanation.”
“O Mr. Manson, how can I bear to bring
such a charge against one whom we have all
thought so pure and innocent. But if you urge
it, I must, but—”
“Don't hesitate Helen, in kindness to all
present, for at such a time every moment seems
an hour,” said Miss Hooper.
“Well, then, Miss Hooper,” said Helen, with
evident unwillingness, “you see this morning
when you were waiting upon Mrs. Ray, I saw
something glistening fall upon the counter on
some silk that lay there, and before I had time
to be quite sure what it was, I saw—O Miss
Hooper, how can I say it? I cannot!”
“Go on, Helen; you must now,” said Miss
Hooper.
“Well then, I saw Blanchette Roso take it
from the silk while placing it in the drawer, and
slide it into the pocket of her dress.”
“Impossible, Helen, utterly impossible!” exclaimed
Miss Hooper. “Blanchette, child,
speak, and deny the frightful charge.”
The color which had at first flushed Blanchette's
neck and brow to a painful degree, had
now given place to a deathly pallor, and though
her white lips essayed to speak, now word escaped.
“Speak, Blanchette, for the love of heaven,
speak!” said Mr. Manson, unable longer to
calmly endure the scene. “Come, we are all
willing to believe you innocent. I'd stake my
life on it, if necessary.”
But Blanchette spoke not, and Mr. Manson
going towards her laid his hand upon her head,
and said entreatingly:
“Well, Blanchette, if you cannot speak, just
empty your pocket of the articles it contains. I
know it seems humiliating, but not a hundredth
part so humiliating as this dreadful suspicion.”
At these words Blanchette drew herself up
proudly, but when she met Mr. Manson's soul
speaking look, her face softened, and tears came
to her relief.
“Dearest Blanchette,” said Susan Emery, in
a voice choked with sobs, “just listen to Mr.
proved, though I for one need no proof.”
Although Blanchette shrank painfully from
the suggestion, she now suffered Susan to remove
the things from her pocket.
“There, I told you so,” exclaimed Susan,
exultingly, as she laid the last article upon the
table.
“I am perfectly satisfied of her innocence,”
said Miss Hooper, “but that the rest may be so,
had you not better turn the pocket, as the key is
but small.”
Susan hastened to obey this last request, when
lo, the key dropped from it, and lay flashing and
sparkling on the floor in the bright sunlight.
One wild shriek escaped Blanchette's pallid
lips, and she sank fainting into the arms of Susan,
whose tears fell like raindrops upon the upturned,
death-like face of the poor girl. There
was searcely a dry eye in the room, and Mr.
Manson was so overcome by the touching scene,
that he would fain have joined his tears with
theirs, but he felt that something must be done
to restore the smitten one to consciousness. So
with a dark shadow upon his face, and a still
darker one upon his heart, he proceeded to apply
the usual restoratives. After a time Blanchette
opened her eyes, but there was a world of
anguish in her tone, as she exclaimed:
“O why did you not let me die! it were far
better so, than to live a despised, lonely outcast.
O my poor, poor mother! Gabriella and Francois
too! what will they say when they hear of
their sister's downfall!”
“May God forgive you as freely as I do,”
said Miss Hooper. “I can not of course continue
you in my employ, but the secret of your guilt
shall never eseape my lips, and I know the girls
will heed this earnest request of mine, that they
too will remain silent.”
When Mr. Manson arose to go, he did not
trust himself to speak to Blanchette, but pressed
her hand in silence. Miss Hooper followed him
into the front shop, and requested him to advise
her. He declared his utter incompetence, but
recommended her to be merciful, and commended
her for the course she had pursued thus far.
It was late at night and yet Blanchette had
not returned. Gabriella and Francois had become
weary with waiting for her, and hours had
elapsed since their heads pressed their pillows,
and the sweet dreams of childhood flitted over
their faney. Mrs. Roso had borne the suspense
as long as it was endurable, and rising, she has
tily threw about her her shawl, and taking her
bonnet she left the house. All was still and she
saw nothing worthy of observation until she
came to an old chapel which stood in an unfrequented
enclosure. She hurriedly entered and
there upon the decayed steps sat Blanchette with
her face upturned to the starry heavens above
her, while the moon's light served but to enhance
its death-like paleness.
“Blanchette, my child!” exclaimed the half-distracted
mother, “speak to me, look at me!”
But there was no sound, no movement. Mrs.
Roso now threw her arms wildly about her, and
raising her up once more, entreated her to speak.
“Let us go home,” was the whispered reply,
“and then I will tell you all, mother. You will
believe me, and heaven will bear witness to the
truth of your child. Let us hasten, I'm so chilly.
I don't know how long I've been sitting here, but
it seems a long time, for O I've had so many
bitter, bitter thoughts!”
Alone in that silent hour, in the solitude of
their humble chamber, did Blanchette pour forth
her mournful tale into the ear of her mother,
and into that of her Maker. It was a trying ordeal
for both mother and child. Heaven comfort
them!
In one week from that time, when Mr. Manson
went to call upon them, he found the tenement
occupied by another family, and though he
inquired earnestly, no tidings could he gain as
to their whereabouts. Two or three months
later there was a current report that an engagement
had taken place between the young pastor
and Miss Fanny Hooper. This report was not
quite true, but so skilfully had the fascinating
young lady played her card that Mr. Manson's
mind was fully decided to entreat her to become
the sharer of his joys and sorrows, when an unforeseen
event occurred.
Death was abroad in the land! It seemed
to delight in arresting the young and fair, and
among its earliest victims was Helen Hastings.
Mr. Manson received an urgent request to visit
her dying bedside. Scarce would he have recognized
in the pale, attenuated girl, the former
blooming Helen. As he approached her, the
poor girl grasped his hand convulsively, and
then motioned all from the room.
“O Mr. Manson!” she exclaimed, when they
were left by themselves, “it was very, very kind
in you to hasten to me. God will reward you.
You see I am dying, and O, I could not die in
peace, until I had told you all. You will despise
dare hope for heaven, while I held the happiness
of one so pure and innocent, so deeply wronged,
in my power. I placed the diamond key in Blanchette
Roso's pocket, at the instigation of Miss
Hooper, and the poor girl was innocent of the
crime as a babe. Should you ever see her, tell
her my dying prayer was for her happiness, and
my dying request was that she might extend to
me a portion of that forgiveness which I have
received from my heavenly Father, through the
merits of a suffering Saviour. I have written a
long letter to Miss Hooper, begging her to confess
the part she took in the unhappy affair, and
urging her to seek Blanchette, and endeavor if
possible, to make atonement for the past. I
would not have mentioned her name to you in
connection with this unhappy affair, had not a
sense of duty impelled me. I felt it was wrong
for you to stake the well-being of a life time, by
uniting your fate to one so utterly unworthy of
your affection. Heaven forgive me if I have
erred! These things I have told you in confidence,
and I feel you will not betray me.”
In two short hours after Mr. Manson entered
that dying chamber, Helen Hastings lay clad in
the habiliments of the grave, with a smile borrowed
from heaven resting upon her face, which
was now colorless as the pillow upon which it
rested. Like the dying thief, she found mercy
with her latest breath. O what a Saviour is ours!
Fanny Hooper had so long looked upon Mr.
Manson as her future husband, that it was long
before she would be convinced otherwise, nor
was she fairly undeceived until she received a
letter from him requesting her to regard him
henceforth as a friend. It was a heavy blow to
the poor girl, for deeply had she loved the young
pastor. Remorse too was at work at her heart.
What would she not have given to have recalled
the past! Scarce a night was there, but in her
dreams Blanchette Roso stood by her bedside,
gazing into her face with the same soul-stirring
expression of anguish which she cast upon her
as she turned to leave the shop. Her constitution,
never strong, gave way under such an accumulating
weight of sorrow. Day by day her step
grew weaker, and her cheek paler, and at last she
was entirely confined to her room. So true is
it that sin brings with it its own sting. But adversity
wrought for her what prosperity had failed
to do. In the solitude of her darkened chamber
she communed with her chastened heart.
She read and re-read Helen Hastings's letter, and
she recalled the touching earnestness of her expression,
as she employed her failing breath in
urging her to confess all to Mr. Manson. After
a long struggle between duty and inclination, she
decided to so. It was a painful meeting for both,
and while she poured forth her humiliating confession,
Mr. Manson felt deeply for the now penitent
girl. He could esteem her, but he could
never love her again, nor did she ask it.
Miss Hooper, now that she was a sufferer herself,
learned to feel for others. She sent for Susan
Emery, and they talked over the past. She
expressed her sorrow that ever she had been unreasonable
with them, and requested her to inform
the girls of this, and give them her best wishes.
'Tis mysterious how one word of kindness will
banish the petty animosities of years. Scarce was
there a day after that, but Miss Hooper was the
recipient of a choice bouquet, a tempting dainty,
or an interesting book from the hands of those
very girls over whom she had once tyrannized.
Warm was the greeting that met her when she
again resumed her duties. Mr. Manson became
charmed with the exemplary character of her
conduct, and gradually his old interest in part
returned. But when he solicited her hand, she
refused, urging as her reason, that she dared
not trust her own heart; besides the one thought
that she had so lowered herself in her own and
his estimation, would be sufficient to render
such a union far from agreeable or desirable.
Mr. Manson upon reflection, concluded that she
was right, and silently acquiesced.
A few months after he received from his society
leave for a year's absence, and bent his course
to the village of Ashdale in another and distant
State. At the urgent request of a friend he decided
to supply his place for a few Sabbaths.
On a lovely Sabbath morning he entered the
sacred desk. He had not been long there, when
he was attracted by the entrance of a young lady.
His eye followed her closely until she was seated.
He waited in vain for her to raise the heavy veil
which screened her from observation, but she did
not until he commenced reading the hymn. The
pale, sorrowful face bent so devoutly over the hymn
book was that of the once light-hearted Blanchette
Roso. He saw he was as yet unrecognized, as she
had not once since her entrance glanced towards
him. As he looked upon her and remembered
her former sprightliness and beauty, he bowed
his head and wept. Poor Blanchette! The first
glance at the stranger as she had premised him to
be, brought back the past, with all its fond associations
one never to be forgotten by her. From the
moment she first saw him at Miss Hooper's, she
had retained a vivid recollection of its every feature
and expression. Like the sensitive plate
of the daguerrean artist, her memory had received
a lasting and life-like impression. Hastily drawing
her veil about her so as to screen herself from
observation, she remained thus until the close of
the service, and then hurriedly left the house,
not aware that Mr. Manson was following her,
until he exclaimed:
“Blanchette, dear innocent Blanchette, you
surely will not refuse to speak to one who for
long months has been seeking to obtain some
clue of you!”
“Innocent!” said Blanchette, raising her eyes
to the face bent so confidingly towards her, “innocent—how
strangely that sounds!”
“Yes, innocent,” said Mr. Manson, pressing
the little trembling hand that rested in his, to
his lips with a brotherly tenderness.
“Now God be praised!” ejaculated Blanchette,
fervently, as she raised her pure face to heaven.
“I have prayed—how earnestly He only knows,
that I might live to see this day. O Mr. Manson,
Mr. Manson, I am too happy!”
The spirit-broken prayer that had so long as
cended from the widowed mother's heart, was
now turned into a song of praise.
At the expiration of the weeks appointed, Mr.
Manson left the quiet village of Ashdale. Again
the rose-tint of health sat upon Blanchette's
cheek, and the smile of hope irradiated her countenance,
while her blithesome song sounded
through their humble home.
In a few months Frederic Manson returned,
and in the still quietude of a Sabbath morning
he stood before the altar in the village church of
Ashdale, in company with Blanchette, and there
in that holy place they plighted their marriage
vows. The next morning there was a tearful,
but not a sad parting from the family circle, and
Frederic Manton and his bride were on their
way home.
It was late on Saturday night when they arrived,
so that their coming was searcely known.
Much surprise was manifested when the young
pastor entered the church on Sabbath morning in
company with a lady, but greater still when the
discovery was made that the minister's beautiful
bride was the once humble Blanchette Roso.
Warm was the meeting between Blanchette and
her former companions, but it could not equal
the warmth of that between herself and the now
amiable Miss Fanny Hooper.
| The Prince Corsair, or, The three brothers of Guzan | |