in boats, he laughingly reminded the American that “the burnt child dreads the fire,” and gave himself no great concern in the matter.  Still no proper precaution was neglected.  Raoul was in the habit of exacting much of his men in moments of necessity; but at all other times he was as indulgent as a kind father among obedient and respectful children.  This quality and the never-varying constancy and coolness that he displayed in danger was the secret of his great influence with them; every seaman under his orders feeling certain that no severe duty was required at his hands without a corresponding necessity for it.

On the present occasion, when the people of le Feu-Follet had supped, they were indulged in their customary dance, and the romantic songs of Provence were heard on the forecastle.  A light-hearted gayety prevailed, that wanted only the presence of woman to make the scene resemble the evening amusement of some hamlet on the coast.  Nor was the sex absent in the sentiment of the hour or wholly so in person.  The songs were full of chivalrous gallantry, and Ghita listened, equally touched and amused.  She sat on the taffrail, with her uncle standing at her side, while Raoul paced the quarter-deck, stopping, in his turn, to utter some thought or wish, to ears that were always attentive.  At length the song and the dance ended, and all but the few who were ordered to remain on watch descended to their hammocks.  The change was as sudden as it was striking.  The solemn, breathing stillness of a star-lit night succeeded to the light laugh, melodious song, and spirited merriment of a set of men whose constitutional gayety seemed to be restrained by a species of native refinement that is unknown to the mariners of other regions, and who, unnurtured as they might be deemed, in some respects, seldom or never offended against the proprieties, as is so common with the mariners of the boasted Anglo-Saxon race.  By this time the cool air from the mountains began to descend, and, floating over the heated sea, it formed a light land-breeze that blew in an exactly contrary direction to that which, about the same hour, came off from the adjacent continent.  There was no moon, but the night could not be called dark.  Myriads of stars gleamed out from the fathomless firmament, filling the atmosphere with a light that served to render objects sufficiently distinct, while it left them clad in a semi-obscurity that suited the witchery of the scene and the hour.  Raoul felt the influence of all these circumstances in an unusual degree.  It disposed him to more sobriety of thought than always attended his leisure moments, and he took a seat on the taffrail near Ghita, while her uncle went below to his knees and his prayers.