I briefly explained, lifting my cap as I gave her her name--Miss Temple--for I had particularly remarked her as she came aboard at Gravesend, and asked who she was, though I had seen nothing more of her down to that moment. I ended my account pointing to the quarter of the sea where the lugger had disappeared. ‘Thanks for the story,’ she exclaimed, with a sudden note of haughtiness in her voice, while she kept her eyes, of the rich blackness of the tropic night-sky, fixed firm and gleaming upon me, as though she had addressed me in error, and wanted to make sure of me. She moved as though she would walk off, paused, and said: ‘Poor creatures! I hope they will be saved. Is our ship injured, do you know?’ ‘I believe not,’ said I a little coldly. ‘There may be a rope or two broken forward perhaps, but there is nothing but the French lugger to be sorry for.’ ‘My aunt, Mrs. Radcliffe,’ said she, ‘has been rendered somewhat hysterical by the commotion on deck. She is too ill to leave her bed. I think I may reassure her?’ ‘Oh yes,’ I exclaimed. ‘But yonder, abreast of the wheel there, is the captain to confirm my words.’ She gave me a bow, or rather a curtsey of those days, and walked aft to address the captain, as I supposed. Instead, she descended the companion hatch, and I lost sight of her. A disdainful lady, thought I, but a rare beauty too!--marvellous eyes, anyhow, to behold by such an illumination as this of rockets and blue lights, and flying moonshine, and the yellow glimmer of flare-tins.