world from which Ithuel came.  He was “clever” in this sense, precisely in proportion as he was ignorant.  His success, on this occasion, gained him friends, and he was immediately sent out again as the regular master of the craft, in which he had so unexpectedly received his promotion.  He now threw all the duty on the mate; but so ready was he in acquiring, that by the end of six months he was a much better sailor than most Europeans would have made in three years.  As the pitcher that goes too often to the well is finally broken, so did Ithuel meet with shipwreck, at last, in consequence of gross ignorance on the subject of navigation.  This induced him to try a long voyage, in a more subordinate situation, until in the course of time he was impressed by the commander of an English frigate, who had lost so many of his men by the yellow fever that he seized upon all he could lay his hands on, to supply their places, even Ithuel being acceptable in such a strait.

CHAPTER IV.

     “The ship is here put in,
     A Veronese; Michael Cassio,
     Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello,
     Is come on shore.”

     Othello.

The glance which Ithuel cast around him was brief, but comprehensive.  He saw that two of the party in the room were much superior to the other four, and that the last were common Mediterranean mariners.  The position which Benedetta occupied in the household could not be mistaken, for she proclaimed herself its mistress by her very air; whether it were in the upper or in the lower room.

“Vino,” said Ithuel, with a flourish of the hand, to help along his Italian, this and one or two more being the only words of the language he ventured to use directly, or without calling in the assistance of his interpreter; “vino—­vino, vino, Signora.”

“Si, si, si, Signore,” answered Benedetta, laughing, and this with her meaning eyes so keenly riveted on the person of her new guest, as to make it very questionable whether she were amused by anything but his appearance; “your eccellenza shall be served; but whether at a paul or a half-paul the flask, depends on your own pleasure.  We keep wine at both prices, and,” glancing toward the table of Andrea Barrofaldi, “usually serve the first to signori of rank and distinction.”

“What does the woman say?” growled Ithuel to his interpreter, a Genoese, who, from having served several years in the British navy, spoke English with a very tolerable facility; “you know what we want, and just tell her to hand it over, and I will fork out her St. Paul without more words.  What a desperate liking your folks have for saints, Philip-o”—­for so Ithuel pronounced Filippo, the name of his companion—­“what a desperate liking your folks have for saints, Philip-o, that they must even call their money after them.”

“It not so in America, Signor Bolto?” asked the Genoese, after he had explained his wishes to Benedetta, in Italian; “It no ze fashion in your country to honor ze saints?”