Am I beautiful a little yet? Do I please you?
I know you mock me."
"_O hala hala!_" sighed Van Dorn. "You are the star of my life. All that
I am, you have made me. Patty, I worship you. When you are gone, human
nature will breathe and wonder. Do you remember when first we met?"
"A little, Captain. Tell it to me again. Praise me if you kin. I'm
almost desolate."
Her lip trembled, and she glanced at the fields across the way, she had
so long inhabited, where, as it seemed to her, more life than ever was
visible to-day, though she did not look carefully.
"How many years it has been, Patty, we will not tell. I was coming home
from Africa with an emigrant, a Briton, my capturer, indeed--that
officer in the blockading squadron on that coast who seized my
privateer, the _Ida_, with all her complement of Guinea slaves. His name
was all I took from him--you got the rest--_Van Dorn_!"
She stole a startled look at him out of her listening eyes, as if this
might be unpleasant talk, but he parried it with a compliment.
"_Chis! Dios!_ What a family of beauties you were! Betty, with her
hoyden air, and Jane, with her wealth of charms, and Patty, with her
bold, rich eyes and conquering will. We sailed into the Nanticoke by
mistake for the Manokin. My friend had pitied my misfortunes and liked
my company, and, when he broke me up as a slaver--having already been
broken as a privateer--had said: 'Dennis, that country you praise so
well has infatuated me; I'll resign my commission and buy a little
vessel, and settle in America with you for the sake of my dear little
daughter, Hulda Van Dorn.
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