When the dusk fell, I opened the door of my berth and entered the cabin. I stepped at once to the tell-tale compass, and saw that the brig’s course was still east by south. The lamp was alight and the meal of the evening was upon the table. The breeze was light, the heel of the brig trifling. I guessed she was under the same canvas I had left her clothed in at noon. I saw the stars shining through the skylight glass, and heard a steady trudge of feet overhead, as of two men, perhaps three, walking the quarter-deck. I looked round for the lady Aurora, and, while I did so, her white dress, with its fanciful decoration of bunting, filled the companion way, and she came down. Her eyes were bright, her looks without excitement or alarm, her cheeks faintly colored by the breath of the evening air she was fresh from. It was clear--I saw it in her--she knew nothing of what had passed. “At last, señor,” said she, approaching as though to give me her hand. She stopped, looked at me earnestly, and slightly wagged her head in a strange foreign way. “You are ill?” she said. “No; I am hungry. Let us sup.” She removed her hat. I helped her to take off her jacket. While this was doing she was silent. She took her seat in silence, and viewed me without speech, reflecting in her own face the expression in mine, as I might suppose, for now was her look of ease gone. I waited until we had eaten and drunk, occasionally breaking the silence by commonplace remarks; then, closing my knife and fork, and draining my mug, I looked up at the skylight, round at the companion way, leaned my head on my elbow across the table, and told my companion, as best I could, what had happened, and what was still happening, aboard us. Her intelligence was so keen, she was so apt in the interpretation of my looks and gestures, so quick in collecting the meaning of my words, that I found no difficulty in making her understand. She exclaimed often in Spanish; the shadows of many emotions swept her face; she stared with horror when she understood that the men meant I should carry the brig to the Indian Ocean, and that the vessel’s head was already pointed, according to their notions of navigation, for the Island of Amsterdam. But she received the news with a degree of calmness that was an astonishment and a reproach to me when I thought of my own distraction. I scarcely imagined she grasped the full meaning of the crew’s intention, till, pointing downward, by which she signified the brig’s hold, she said: “The _Casada_ had a demon on board. It is now the spirit of this ship.” This she conveyed in Spanish and English. I understood her. “Yet I mean to keep a hold of that demon,” said I, thinking aloud rather than talking to her. “I’d put the vessel ashore sooner than let the scoundrels plunder me of my share and divide--Jesus Maria! only think!--fifteen tons of dollars among them!” and I smote the table with my fist, and the blood, hot as flame, flushed my face.