But, oh, the time and difficulty to make her understand this! “I am very sad to-day, Señor Fielding. The death of the captain makes me think of my mother. Most blessed and very purest Maria, does she live? Shall we meet again? Ay me, ay me,” and here the tears stood in her eye. “Señorita, this is what I wish to say to you. I have not the fears of the captain who is dead. If we meet a ship of your nation, if we meet a ship of any country sailing to Spain, or proceeding to a port in South America, east or west, I will put you on board her if she will take you.” “_Gracias._ I am content to stop.” “You are alone.” “It is true, señor.” (Sigh.) “There are few comforts for you in this ship.” “True, true, ’tis true. Yet could I be content if I knew my mother was alive.” “If you are content I am glad. I do not wish to speak a ship, yet I’ll do so.” “No--I will go home in the _Black Watch_.” “I admire your spirit. You have borne up very bravely.” “To you belongs my gratitude, Señor Fielding. Throughout you have been amiable and tender. The poor captain liked me not. Why was that?” and here she bent her eyes upon me; their expression was a mixture of archness and temper. “He was in pain, was a little crazy, and would not always be sure of the reasons of his moods.” “I am not used not to be liked.” I bowed a very full acquiescence. “He was not as you are. But he is dead.” Her hand flashed as she swept it before her face, dismissing the subject with a gesture. “Now that you are captain you will have plenty of leisure.” “I shall have time to spare.” “_Vaya!_ Time to spare--and yet command! I shall want you to give me much of your time.” I looked at her eyes and laughed when I gathered her meaning, and answered: “All the spare time I have shall be yours, señorita. But how much of that spare time will it take to make you weary of my face and voice?” “_Qué disparate!_ [What nonsense!] You shall teach me English, and I will teach you Spanish.” “_Bueno!_ Yet what is the reason of your desire to speak English?” To this she made no answer. She cast her eyes down, and her face took a demure look. “It is a rough language.” “It is a noble language, señor,” said she, answering with her eyes cast down. Suddenly she looked up: the leap of her glance was like the light of a flash of fire upon her face, so swift and cunning was she in the management of her eyelids. “Do you love music?” “Yes.” “I will sing to you when it is calm, and when you can hear my voice.” I thanked her for this promise. “Are we not alone? We will be company one to the other. I have the actress’s art, and can recite, and when you know some Spanish I will speak many beautiful and majestic lines to you. Have you playing-cards?” “I fear not.” “_Eso me soprende mucho!_ Many tiresome hours could we have killed with cards. Can you dance?” “All sailors can dance.”