“Well done, ho!” exclaimed Hildebrand, rightly divining that the lights were a provision of Master Halyard’s, and were intended to guide him to the ship. “Now, lads, place Don Rafaele in the stern, and shove off! May God be merciful to our souls!” The two sailors, without the slightest hesitation, hastened to obey him; and, having bestowed Don Rafaele carefully in the stern of the boat, proceeded to set her afloat. Hildebrand assisted them to shove the boat into the water, and then, not without getting well soaked by the waves, leaped with them aboard of her, and took his place at the rudder. The boat nearly capsized as they got fairly afloat. But the dexterity of the two seamen, and the prompt manner in which Hildebrand, on taking his seat, regulated her balance, counteracted the influence of the waves, and enabled her to recover herself. All now depended on the perfect preservation of the boat’s equilibrium. Their route to the ship was not near so dangerous, in other respects, as their progress to the shore had been; for the wind had been then right in their teeth, and, consequently, was now in their favour. Since the fall of hail, too, it had lulled somewhat, and, though the waves ran as high as ever, the boat rose to the water with less strain, and made good way. In a short time, indeed, they brought the cruizer’s lights close before their head, and were able to distinguish her long black hull. As they did so, the two mariners uttered a loud hurrah, and thus drew the attention of Master Halyard, who happened to be on the look-out, in the gangway, to their perilous situation. A rope was thrown to them instantly; and in a few moments more, the boat was hauled alongside; and Hildebrand, bearing Don Rafaele in his arms, ascended to the deck. The anxious group who had crowded to the gangway fell back at the approach of their commander. Hildebrand, however, took no notice of their silent welcome; he even overlooked Master Halyard, and, thinking only of his wounded friend, who now seemed to cling to him more than ever, he shot across the deck, and descended straight to the cabin. No one was in the cabin but the pantler, who, though of such a taciturn disposition, fairly broke into an exclamation as he entered. “Hie thee for some hot water, sirrah,” cried Hildebrand; “and be hither with it straightway.” The pantler disappeared; and Hildebrand, preparatory to any further measures, relieved Don Rafaele of his cloak and hat, and laid him on his bed. Having thus bestowed him, he was turning to look for the steward, when Don Rafaele, with a slight effort, threw his free arm round his neck, and held him back. “Leave me not to a stranger,” he said, in broken accents: “I--I--AM INEZ.” CHAPTER VII.