She addressed Antonio in a few sentences at a time. Occasionally her language was above his understanding; he would look at her stupidly, until she gave him another nod. How rich was her Spanish, how honey-sweet her utterance! It was like listening to singing. The memories which thronged her recital delicately colored with blood her pale olive cheek; her eyes moistened or sparkled as she spoke, or watched while Antonio interpreted. Most of the time her gaze was fastened upon me. It seemed as though she put me before Greaves, as though the incident of my having had charge of the boat which brought her off the island, had established me in her gratitude as her deliverer. Her story, however, was little more than a repetition of what has already been related. Her mother had been absent twenty years from Old Spain. On the death of her husband, she sold the estate and all her interest in the business, and went to Acapulco with her daughter, on a visit to her brother, who was a priest at that place; thence she and Aurora took shipping for Cadiz. The lady broke off at this to implore us, through Antonio, to tell her, as sailors, whether we believed her mother’s life had been preserved. Greaves answered that he considered it very probable that her mother was alive. Who was to tell that the ship had foundered? Who was to say that she had not outweathered the gale, been jury-rigged and worked by the survivors into port, the Señorita Aurora’s mother being on board? The girl’s eyes glistened when this was translated. She smiled at Greaves and thanked him in Spanish. An expression of pleading then entered her face, and her look took a peculiar color of beauty from the wistfulness and plaintiveness of it. Why would not the captain set her ashore at Lima, that she might rejoin her mother, who, on landing--it mattered not at what port on the coast--was sure to make her way to Acapulco? But Greaves shook his head, smiling into her eyes, which were impassioned with entreaty. “I must go straight home,” said he. “Do not you know that there is a treasure in our hold, which obliges me to make haste to reach England? I will take care that you safely arrive at Madrid, even should it come to myself escorting you, señorita.” She bowed, looking sadly. “Or here,” said he, extending his hand toward me, “is a cavalier who will be honored by conducting you to Madrid.” She slightly glanced at me, then fastened her eyes upon the deck and mused for a few moments; then addressed Antonio, who, turning to me, said--but in English, you will please understand, which I do not attempt to reproduce, that you may read without hindrance: “The lady recollects that when she met you at Lima you spoke Spanish.” “I was never at Lima,” I answered, coloring and then laughing. “Depend upon it,” said Greaves, “that the fellow she met was good-looking, or recollection wouldn’t be so bright.” “What was the occupation of the gentleman?” said I to the lady, through Antonio.