“You must excuse me, Mr. Clifford,” he said, apologizing; “but, really, the idea of your formality amused me no little; for, however acceptable such would prove to the society with which you have been accustomed to mingle, I am afraid such ceremonious politeness would be hardly popular here.”

“But, really, Captain,”—­and Mr. Clifford looked, it must be confessed, a little vexed,—­“you should have informed me who I was going to meet, before sending me on as herald.  I was not aware that I should be thrown into the society of ladies, or I should have endeavored to appear to a little better advantage.  As it is, I am hardly fit to be seen; and while I am aware that your good lady excuses me, knowing the circumstances under which I took shelter with you, yet, to strangers I would appear rather ludicrous, clad in those ill-fitting garments.”

“They are not the most elegant in the world, I acknowledge,” was the response; “but much better than the fishermen’s wives and daughters are accustomed to see, for those are the only =ladies= that inhabit these sterile regions.”

“It surely could not have been a fisherman’s daughter that I beheld just now, as I neared the dwelling to which you directed me; for, seated at the window, sewing, was a young lady, neatly though plainly dressed; but her look and manner bespoke her to be far above such a condition of life.”

The Captain looked puzzled, and turning to his wife, said, “It must, be Ellen Williamson, to whom Mr. Clifford alludes.  She is not ill-favored, by any means, and indeed quite the belle of the place, being by far the best looking girl in it; nevertheless, I should hardly mistake her for one of higher rank; but Mr. Clifford has been so long without beholding woman’s face divine, with the exception of yours, my dear, that he is ready to magnify good looks into positive beauty and grace.”

The young man seemed disconcerted.

“I could almost stake my existence, that the person to whom I refer is not, cannot be the daughter of a fisherman.  However, if it should be so, Captain, and such a region as this can produce so lovely a being, in spite of its barren wastes and rocky steppes, I should be ready to surname it Paradise, or The Enchanted Isle, if you will; for certainly it was a vision of enchantment I just now beheld.”

Captain Pierce, though almost imagining that his young friend’s intellect had been deranged, gaily responded:—­

“I must warn you in time, I see, for you are in danger of losing your heart, if it is not gone already.  Ellen Williamson is engaged to a worthy young man, a captain of a fishing schooner, and their marriage is to be celebrated this spring, so her father informed me when I was here last year, and I think it only my duty to give you fair warning, that another claims your enchantress as his own.  But here we are at the cottage, and your doubts will speedily be put to flight, by an introduction to the girl herself.”