The old man rose up. ‘If you have no further commands,’ he was beginning, when Don José, who had got upon his feet, and was assuming his rapier and sombrero, while he repeated—‘No—none at all,’ suddenly stopped, and said, laughingly— ‘Hold—yes, one. You have heard of Don Octavio y St. Jago—every duenna in Madrid knows him to her cost. Well, he and I are close friends; I have writ to him. The letter is in the packet you hold; but one material circumstance I have forgotten. It is an old paction between us, that each should inform the other of all his love passages, so that, as it were, we should mutually act as spurs to each other’s gallantry, and so keep up our reputation.’ The merchant at this shrugged up his shoulders. ‘But,’ quoth he, ‘I thought you deemed the ladies on this side the great ocean no better than savages.’ ‘Well, well, my good Davosa, and, if I did, know you not that there may be, for once in a way, a certain savour and tastiness about savagedom which speaks to the palate? Look you, the man palled with nectarines and peaches may well pluck a bramble as he loiters in the field. And so, pray find means to inform my friend that there dwelleth in Carthagena a very ripe, and not altogether untempting bramble, having the shape of a very innocent-hearted and simple-souled damsel, who having rejected one or more of my courtesies, put me in the mind to tame and humble her completely; that unto this end I have gained over her mother, who is a widow and also a fool, believing very firmly in the saints, and a great number of other phenomena, myself among the number; and that—that—in fact I shall impart to him the conclusion of the tale when we meet at Madrid.’ The old man drily promised to observe the message, and then both drunk to the success of the voyage. ‘To-morrow evening, then, you turn your faces eastward?’ said the cavalier. ‘If there be but a breath to clear us of the land, I trust we may say our vespers at sea,’ replied the merchant. ‘And if there be but that same breeze,’ I whispered to myself, ‘you may chance say your matins aboard the Will-o’-the-Wisp.’ Then as the couple walked towards the cabin-stairs, I lowered myself into the shallop in safety, whispering to my comrades the good news I had overheard. They could scarce refrain from shouting, but caution overmastering joy, we pulled swiftly away. To some degree, however, our good fortune had made us bold, and instead of rowing out straight to sea, we made for the principal cluster of ships, as they lay in the line of our progress towards the schooner. We had passed several, when we suddenly heard the dash of several oars, vigorously pulled, close aheap. ‘Santa Maria!’ cried the negro, springing up, for he was terribly frightened at being found with us, ‘Santa Maria—the guard-boat!’