“All ready to dish up, sir,” a voice answered him. It was like a sort of madness. Were they thinking of eating? Even at that the English talk made my heart expand--the homeliness of it. I seemed to know all their voices, as if I had talked to each man before. It brought back memories, like the voices of friends. But there was the strange irrelevancy, levity, the enmity--the irrational, baffling nature of the anguishing conversation, as if with the unapproachable men we meet in nightmares. We in the dinghy, as well as those on board, were listening anxiously. A profound silence reigned for a time. “I don’t care for myself,” I tried once more, speaking distinctly. “But a lady in the boat here is in great danger, too. Won’t you do something for a woman?” I perceived, from the sort of stir on board, that this caused some sensation. “Or is the whole ship’s company afraid to let one little boat come alongside?” I added, after waiting for an answer. A throat was cleared on board mildly, “Hem... you see, we don’t know who you are.” “I’ve told you who I am. The lady is Spanish.” “Just so. But there are Englishmen and Englishmen in these days. Some of them keep very bad company ashore, and others afloat. I couldn’t think of taking you on board, unless I know something more of you.” I seemed to detect an intention of malice in the mild voice. The more so that I overheard a rapid interchange of mutterings up there. “See him yet?” “Not a thing, sir.” “Wait, I say.” Nothing could overcome the fixed idea of these men, who seemed to enjoy so much the cleverness of their suspicions. It was the most dangerous of tempers to deal with. It made them as untrustworthy as so many lunatics. They were capable of anything, of decoying us alongside, and stoving the bottom out of the boat, and drowning us before they discovered their mistake, if they ever did. Even as it was, there was danger; and yet I was extremely loath to give her up. It was impossible to give her up. But what were we to do? What to say? How to act? “Castro, this is horrible,” I said blankly. That he was beginning to chafe, to fret, and shuffle his feet only added to my dismay. He might begin at any moment to swear in Spanish, and that was sure to bring a shower of lead, blind, fired blindly. “We have nothing to expect from the people of that ship. We cannot even get on board.” “Not without Manuel’s help, it seems,” he said bitterly. “Strange, is it not, Señor? Your countrymen--your excellent and virtuous countrymen. Generous and courageous and perspicacious.” Seraphina said suddenly, “They have reason. It is well for them to be suspicious of us in this place.” She had a tone of calm reproof, and of faith. “They shall be of more use when they are dead,” Castro muttered. “The senor’s other dead countrymen served us well.” “I shall give you great, very great sums of money,” Seraphina suddenly cried towards the ship. “I am the Señorita Seraphina Riego.”