Relieved by these and other better thoughts, the visitor, lightly humming a tune, now began indifferently pacing the poop, so as not to betray to Don Benito that he had at all mistrusted incivility, much less duplicity; for such mistrust would yet be proved illusory, and by the event; though, for the present, the circumstance which had provoked that distrust remained unexplained. But when that little mystery should have been cleared up, Captain Delano thought he might extremely regret it, did he allow Don Benito to become aware that he had indulged in ungenerous surmises. In short, to the Spaniard’s black-letter text, it was best, for awhile, to leave open margin. Presently, his pale face twitching and overcast, the Spaniard, still supported by his attendant, moved over towards his guest, when, with even more than his usual embarrassment, and a strange sort of intriguing intonation in his husky whisper, the following conversation began:— “Señor, may I ask how long you have lain at this isle?” “Oh, but a day or two, Don Benito.” “And from what port are you last?” “Canton.” “And there, Señor, you exchanged your sealskins for teas and silks, I think you said?” “Yes, Silks, mostly.” “And the balance you took in specie, perhaps?” Captain Delano, fidgeting a little, answered— “Yes; some silver; not a very great deal, though.” “Ah—well. May I ask how many men have you, Señor?” Captain Delano slightly started, but answered— “About five-and-twenty, all told.” “And at present, Señor, all on board, I suppose?” “All on board, Don Benito,” replied the Captain, now with satisfaction. “And will be to-night, Señor?” At this last question, following so many pertinacious ones, for the soul of him Captain Delano could not but look very earnestly at the questioner, who, instead of meeting the glance, with every token of craven discomposure dropped his eyes to the deck; presenting an unworthy contrast to his servant, who, just then, was kneeling at his feet, adjusting a loose shoe-buckle; his disengaged face meantime, with humble curiosity, turned openly up into his master’s downcast one. The Spaniard, still with a guilty shuffle, repeated his question: “And—and will be to-night, Señor?” “Yes, for aught I know,” returned Captain Delano—“but nay,” rallying himself into fearless truth, “some of them talked of going off on another fishing party about midnight.” “Your ships generally go—go more or less armed, I believe, Señor?” “Oh, a six-pounder or two, in case of emergency,” was the intrepidly indifferent reply, “with a small stock of muskets, sealing-spears, and cutlasses, you know.” As he thus responded, Captain Delano again glanced at Don Benito, but the latter’s eyes were averted; while abruptly and awkwardly shifting the subject, he made some peevish allusion to the calm, and then, without apology, once more, with his attendant, withdrew to the opposite bulwarks, where the whispering was resumed.