“How he talks--mine Cott, how he talks! I would gif half mine dollars to talk like dot shentleman.” “He is an educated man, and speaks well.” “Yaw, vell indeedt. I like der sheck of Antonio in oxbecting a share. But he oxbects no longer, ha?” I turned from the Dutchman and looked through the skylight, and saw Greaves sitting at table, leaning his head upon his hand. The lady Aurora continued to write, but once or twice while I watched, she lifted her eyes to look at the captain. I was weary and passed below to go to my cabin. Greaves had left the table and was entering his own berth, as I descended the companion steps. The materials for a glass of grog were on a swing tray. While I mixed myself a tumbler the girl rose and handed me the paper she had been writing upon. The sheets had been torn by Greaves from an old log book, and they were filled by her with Spanish names with their English meanings. I ran my eye over the writing, which was a very neat, clean Spanish hand, and nodded and smiled, and returned the pages to her, saying _Bueno_. Then emptying my glass I gave her a bow, bade her good-night in Spanish, received her answer of “Good-night, sir,” well expressed in English, and passed into my berth. CHAPTER XXII. GREAVES SICKENS. This time gives a date to a change that came over Greaves. It was the change of sickness. He grew feverish, irritable, fanciful; his appetite fell away; the light in his eyes dimmed; sometimes he would put on a staring look, as though he beheld something beyond that at which he gazed.