I sat with her ladyship, and we ate of the yield of the _Black Watch’s_ cabin pantry. The day was fine; the sun sparkled white as silver upon the skylight. The royal yards were aloft, and the brig was sailing with her larboard topmast studding sail out, making very little noise as she went, so that talking was easy. Times had been when Miss Aurora questioned me about the dollars in the lazarette. She had asked me for the name of the ship they came from: I had answered her, _La Perfecta Casada_. She had asked me for the story of Greaves’ discovery, and by our methods of communication I had spun her the yarn. When I had spun her the yarn, she informed me that she had heard of the loss of a Spanish ship called _La Perfecta Casada_, with all hands, as it was supposed, but this said, the subject dropped, and we rarely afterward mentioned the matter of the treasure in the hold. Now, while we were at dinner this day, we talked of her shipwreck. She said there had been a quantity of antique valuable furniture belonging to her mother on board; otherwise, saving clothes and jewelry, the Señora de la Cueva had embarked no property in the ship. She spoke of the captain and officers of the vessel. The captain was a worthless seaman, a timid, ill-tempered, swearing fellow, a native of the Manillas. We drifted from this subject of the wreck to _La Perfecta Casada_. Our conversation was animated, despite the frequent interruption of gesticulations, the many hindrances of words unintelligible through their pronunciation, the frequent pausings for the needful term. She requested me to describe the cave in which the _Casada_ lay. I fetched paper and pencil, and drew it for her as best I could. Then she asked me the value of the treasure, and I told her very honestly that it rose to above half a million of dollars of the currency of her nation. “Ave Maria!” cried she, “what wealth to discover in a cave. It is like a tale told by the Arabs. Santa Maria Purissima! What a treasure for a mariner of the orthodox faith to dedicate to the Church! You will receive a handsome portion, I trust?” “I will receive a share,” said I. “And the poor Captain Greaves--had he a share!” “A big share.” “It will go to his mother?” “He had no relations. It will go to his Church.” Her eyes sparkled. “My Church!” she cried, pressing her forefinger to her breast. “Mine,” said I, imitating her action with my forefinger. She shrugged her shoulders, looked at me fixedly, smiled, and gave me several nods in the foreign fashion. I felt no reluctance in talking to her about the treasure. Indeed, I had never sympathized with Greaves’ nervous caution in this way. It was not as if he and I alone had possessed the secret of the dollars: all hands knew there were fifteen tons of minted silver in the lazarette. What on earth was the use of concealing the fact from this Spanish lady, as if she only of all the souls on board the brig was to be feared by and by as the intelligencer?