At that moment the cabin door opened again, and the figure of the woman I had seen before reappeared against the light.
'I was allowed to stand under the gate of the Casa, Excellency, I was in very truth. Oh, turn not the light of your face from me.' Manuel, who had been silent for a minute, immediately recommenced his clamour in the hope, I suppose, that it would reach Seraphina's ears, now the door was opened.
'What is to be done, Owen?' the woman asked, with a serenity I thought very merciless.
She had precisely the air of having someone 'in the house,' someone rather questionable that you want, at home, to get rid of, as soon as a very small charity permitted.
'Madam,' I said rather coldly, 'I appeal to your woman's compassion....'
'Even thus the arch-enemy sets his snares,' she retorted on me a little tremulously.
'Senorita, I have seen you grow,' Manuel called again. 'Your father, who is with the saints, gave me alms when I was a boy. Will you let them kill a man to whom your father...'
'Snares. All snares. Can she be blessed in going away from her natural guardians at night, alone, with a young man? How can we, consistently with our duty...'
Her voice was cold and gentle. Even in the imperfect light her appearance suggested something cold and monachal. The thought of what she might have been saying, or, in the subtle way of women, making Seraphina feel, in there, made me violently angry, but lucid, too.
'She comes straight from the fresh grave of her father,' I said. 'I am her only guardian.'
Manuel rose to the height of his appeal. 'Senorita, I worshipped your childhood, I threw my hat in the air many times before your coach, when you drove out all in white, smiling, an angel from paradise. Excellency, help me. Excel...'
A hand was clapped on his mouth then, and we heard only a great scuffle going on behind us. The way to the cozy cabin remained barred. My heart was kindled by resentment, but by the power of love my soul was made tranquil, for come what absurdity might, I had Sera-phina safe for the time. The woman in the doorway guarded the respectable ship's cuddy from the un-wedded vagabondage of romance.
'What's to be done, Owen?' she asked again, but this time a little irresolutely, I thought. 'You know something of this—but I....'
'My dear, what an idea,' began Williams; and I heard his helpless mutters, 'Like a hero—one evening— admiral—old Topnambo—nothing of her—on my soul—Lord's son...'
Sebright spoke up from the side. 'We could drive them overboard together, certainly, Mrs. Williams, but that wouldn't be quite proper, perhaps. Put them each in a bag, separately, and drown them one on each side of the ship, decently....'
'You will not put me off with your ungodly levity, Mr. Sebright.'
'But I am perfectly serious, Mrs. Williams. It may raise a mutiny amongst these horrid, profane sailors, but I really don't see how we are to get rid of them else. The bo'sun has cut adrift their ramshackle, old sieve of a boat, and she's now a quarter of a mile astern, half-full of water. And we can't give them one of the ship's boats to go and get their throats cut ashore. J. Perkins, Esquire, wouldn't like it. He would swear something awful, if the boat got lost. Now, don't say no, Mrs. Williams. I've heard him myself swear a pound's worth of oaths for a matter of tenpence. You know very well what your uncle is. A perfect Turk in that way.'
'Don't be scandalous, Mr. Sebright.'
'But I didn't begin, Mrs. Williams. It's you who are raising all this trouble for nothing; because, as a matter of fact, they did not come alone. They had a man with them. An elderly, most respectable man. There he stands yonder, with a feather in his hat. Hey! You!
Manuel managed to jerk a half-choked 'Excellency,' and Castro, muffled up to the eyes, began to walk slowly aft, pausing after each solemn stride. The dark woman in the doorway was as effectual as an angel with a flaming sword. She paralyzed me completely.
Sebright dropped his voice a little. 'I don't see that's much worse than going off at six o'clock in the morning to get married on the quiet; all alone with a man in a hackney coach—you know you did—and being given away by a perfect stranger.'
'Mr. Sebright! Be quiet! How dare you?... Owen!'
Williams made a vague, growling noise, but Sebright, after muttering hurriedly, 'It's all right, sir,' proceeded with the utmost coolness:
'Why, all Bristol knows it! There are those who said that you got out of the scullery window into the back street. I am only telling you...'
'You ought to be ashamed of yourself to believe such tales,' she cried in great agitation. 'I walked out at the gate!'
'Yes. And the gardener's wife said you must have sneaked the key off the nail by the side of the cradle— coming to the lodge the evening before, to see her poor, ailing baby. You ought to know what love brings the best of us to. And your uncle isn't a bloody-handed pirate either. He's only a good-hearted, hard-swearing old heathen. And you, too, are good-hearted. Come, Mrs. Williams. I know you're just longing to tuck this young lady up in bed —poor thing. Think what she has gone through! You ought to be fussing with sherry and biscuits and what not— making that good-for-nothing steward fly round. The beggar is hiding in the lazarette, I bet. Now then—allow me.'
I got hold of the matter there again. I said—because I felt that the matter only needed making clear:
'This young lady is the daughter of a great Spanish noble. Her father was killed by these pirates. I am myself of noble family, and I am her appointed guardian, and am trying to save her from a very horrible fate.'
She looked at me apprehensively.
'You would be committing a wicked act to try to interfere with this,' I said.
