We pass over all the first outpourings of Ghita’s anguish, when she learned the wound of Raoul, her many and fervent prayers, and the scenes that took place during the time that the islet was still crowded with the combatants.  More quiet hours succeeded when these last were gone; and as the night advanced, something like the fixed tranquillity of settled despair followed the first emotions.  When ten o’clock arrived, we reach the moment at which we wish to raise the curtain once more, in order to present the principal actors in the scene.

Raoul lay on the summit of the islet, where his eye could range over the mild waters that washed the rock, and his ear listen to the murmurings of his own element.  The Tramontana, as usual, had driven all perceptible vapor from the atmosphere, and the vault of heaven, in its cerulean blue, and spangled with thousands of stars, stretched itself above him, a glorious harbinger for the future to one who died in hope.  The care of Ghita and the attendants had collected around the spot so many little comforts, as to give it the air of a room suddenly divested of sides and ceiling, but habitable and useful.  Winchester, fatigued with his day’s work, and mindful of the wish that Raoul might so naturally feel to be alone with Ghita, had lain down on a mattress, leaving orders to be called should anything occur; while the surgeon, conscious that he could do no more, had imitated his example, making a similar request.  As for Carlo Giuntotardi, he seldom slept, he was at this prayers in the ruins.  Andrea and the podesta paced the rock to keep themselves warm, slightly regretting the sudden burst of humanity which had induced them to remain.

Raoul and Ghita were alone.  The former lay on his back, his head bolstered, and his face upturned toward the vault of heaven.  The pain was over, and life was ebbing fast.  Still, the mind was unshackled, and thought busy as ever.  His heart was still full of Ghita; though his extraordinary situation, and more especially the glorious view before his eyes, blended certain pictures of the future with his feelings, that were as novel as he found them powerful.

With the girl it was different.  As a woman, she felt the force of this sudden blow in a manner that she found difficult to bear.  Still, she blessed God that what had occurred happened in her presence, as it might be; leaving her the means of acting, and the efficacy of prayer.  To say that she did not yet feel the liveliest love for Raoul, all that tenderness which constitutes so large a portion of woman’s nature, would be untrue; but her mind was made up to the worst, and her thoughts were of another state of being.

A long pause occurred, in which Raoul remained stead-fastly gazing at the starry canopy above.

“It is remarkable, Ghita,” he said, at length, “that I—­Raoul Yvard—­the corsair—­the man of wars and tempests combats and hairbreadth escapes—­should be dying here, on this rock, with all those stars looking down upon me, as it might be, from your heaven, seeming to smile upon me!”