“You know, Captain Ratlin, that I feel so much indebted to you, in so many ways, that any little service I am capable of doing for you would be but a grateful pleasure,” was the instant and frank reply of the beautiful girl, while a heightened glow mantled her cheek.

“Then, Helen, listen to me, and if I am too excited in speaking of a subject so immensely important to me, I trust you will forgive me.  Already I have given you a rough outline of my story, rough and uncouth indeed, since I could give it no commencement.  You will remember that previous to the fall I got on ship-board, while a boy in the ‘Sea Lion,’ I could recall no event.  It was all a blank to me, and my parentage and my childhood were to me a sealed book.  Strange as it may seem that book has been opened, and the story is now complete.  I know all!”

“Indeed! indeed I am rejoiced to hear you say so,” was the earnest reply, while the countenance of the fair creature by his side was lighted up by tenderness and hope.

“You look pleased, Helen,” he continued; “but supposing the gap in my story, which is now filled up, had better for my own credit have remained blank!”

“That cannot be—­I feel that it cannot be,” she said, almost eagerly.

“Supposing that it is now ascertained that the parents of the sailor boy, whose story you have heard, deserted him because of necessity; supposing they were poor, very humble, but not dishonest, would such facts rob me of your continued kind feelings?”

“You know, Captain Ratlin, that you need not ask such a question,” she replied, as she looked into his face with her whole gentle soul open through her eyes.

“You are too kind, too trusting in your confidence in me, Helen,” he said.

The only reply was from her downcast eyes, and a still warmer blush which covered the delicate surface of her temples even, and glowed in silent beauty upon her cheek.

“Helen,” continued he by her side in tones of tenderness that were momentarily becoming more and more gentle, more and more expressive of the deepest feeling; “Helen, do you remember the days of your childhood, at home, in far-off England, at home near Bramble Park?”

“Yes, yes,” she answered, eagerly.  “But why do you speak of those days?”

She looked into his face as she asked, almost as though she could read his meaning.

“Do you remember Robert Bramble then?”

“Well, well.”

“And do you remember his brother, Helen?”

“Gracious heavens, yes!” she quickly answered, almost anticipating his words.

“Well, Helen, Charles Bramble is before you!”