terrible ship, and do not grieve thy gentle spirit with a scene that is so unfit for thy sex and years.  Bless thee—­bless thee, my child.  Would to heaven I had earlier known thee—­but even this glimpse of thy worth has lightened my heart.  Thou find’st me here a poor condemned criminal, unable to provide for thy future wants—­nay, I can yet do a little for thee, too.  This bag contains gold.  It has been sent to me by a relative, thinking it might be of service in averting the punishment that awaits me.  For that purpose it is now useless; with thy simple habits, however, it will render thy life easy and above care.”

Ghita, with streaming eyes, steadily put aside the gold, though she pressed the cross to her bosom, kissing it fervently again and again.

“Not that—­not that, grandfather,” she said; “I want it not—­wish it not.  This is enough; and this will I keep to my own last moment.  I will quit the ship, too; but not the place.  I see many boats collecting, and mine shall be among them; my prayers shall go up to God for thee, now thou art living, and daily after thou art dead.  There needs no gold, grandfather, to purchase a daughter’s prayers.”

Don Francesco regarded the zealous and lovely girl with intense feeling; then he folded her to his heart once more, blessing her audibly again and again.  While thus employed the Foudroyant’s bell struck once, and then those of all the surrounding ships, English and Neapolitan, repeated the stroke.  This, Caraccioli, a seaman himself, well knew denoted that the time was half-past four; five being the hour named for his execution.  He felt it necessary, therefore, to dismiss his new-found relative, that he might pass a few more minutes alone with his confessor.  The parting was solemn but tender, and as Ghita left the cabin her condemned grandfather felt as he would had he taken leave for ever of one whom he had long loved, and whose virtues had been a solace to him from the hour of his birth.

The deck of the Minerva presented a sorrowful scene, Although the prisoner had been condemned by a court of Neapolitan officers, the trial was had under the British ensign, and the feeling of the public was with the prisoner.  There existed no necessity for the hurry in which everything had been done; no immediate danger pressed, and an example would have been more impressive had there been less of the appearance of a desire for personal vengeance, and more of the calm deliberation of justice in the affair.  Ghita’s connection with the prisoner could not be even suspected; but as it was known that she had been in the cabin, and believed that she felt an interest in the condemned, the officers manifested an interest in her wishes and too evident emotions.  An immense throng of boats had assembled around the ship; for, hasty as had been the proceedings, the tidings that Francesco Caraccioli was to be hanged for treason spread like wildfire; and scarce a craft of proper size was left within the mole, so eager was the desire to witness that which was to occur.  Either in the confusion, or bribed by money, the man who had brought off Carlo Giuntotardi and his niece was no longer to be found, and the means of quitting the ship seemed momentarily to be lost.