The conversation was carried on in French; and the soldier told of their travels; told how the baboon had first been found; how it had lived in the camp, and how it had died. The chess-players were disturbed by the silvery peals of laughter which rang round them as Hughes related, with some humour, the incident of the powder-flask; and Dona Isabel's dark eyes had been fixed for a long time on the speaker's face ere the tale was finished, and the sun sank beneath the horizon, the stars peeping out, while the fire-flies came floating around, and the cool puffs of the sea breeze swept across the river. "Sing for us, Isabel," said Dom Francisco, as he checkmated his antagonist, at the same time rising and making him a stately bow. Dona Isabel took her guitar, and the sweet tones of her voice rang out among the trellised vines and over the broad river, dying away on the plains beyond, where the howl of the jackal was just making itself heard. "You will give me my revenge, Senhor Maxara," asked the Commandant. "Nay, Dom Isidore, not possible--at least, until you do me the high honour of becoming my guest in our own land. We must leave to-morrow evening." "And the Dona Isabel," asked Mujaio. "Is she, too, in such a hurry to leave Senna?" "The Dona Isabel must abide by her father's decision," she replied; "but she may have a word to say to Dom Maxara on the subject." Rising, Isabel took her father's arm, and leading him towards the river side, seemed to urge something, to which he would not consent. "Impossible, Isabel; wholly so. The brig is an English trader, bound for the Cape, and takes us only as passengers. Her captain cannot delay beyond the stipulated day; but come, we will do our best." "My daughter, Dom Isidore has been urging our stay at Senna for some days longer, but I am forced to say nay. You, gentlemen," continued the ceremonious old noble, bowing first to the missionary, then to the soldier, "seek to return to the Cape; will you so far honour my daughter and myself as to accompany us?" The soldier's face flushed with pleasure. It was just what he could have desired. Wyzinski courteously declined, urging that they must wait until the "Alert" gun brig should touch at Quillimane, as they were without funds, and unable to pay their passage to the Cape. A stately wave of the hand from Dom Francisco followed this matter-of-fact declaration, which wounded the soldier to the quick. He almost hated Wyzinski, and yet the determination had been come to that morning, on hearing of the advent of the "Alert." "The brig `Halcyon' waits us at Quillimane," persisted the noble. "She is chartered by my government to convey me, its envoy, to the Cape, and can take no passengers, but is bound to receive my suite and guests. Will the senhors honour us by becoming the latter?"