"There are plenty of an inferior description to those caught further north, and further south," replied Hughes. "But tell me of your own country, Isabel, a land I do not know." "No; we will have it the other way about, Enrico. Tell me of our home among your native mountains, and of the strange customs and manners of the people." "But they are not strange, and there is no difference between them and others, save that they are of more ancient race and speak an older tongue than the English. True tradition lives among the time-worn mountains of the Cymri." "Well, tell me one of them, Enrico mio." With that faculty of enjoying the present, without thought of the future, inherent to the Spanish and Portuguese nature, Isabel seemed to have forgotten her position, even the dread peril which menaced them from the evil humour and greed of the dissatisfied seamen. All was merged in the present, in the quiet beauty of the night, the starlight which glistened in her eyes, the long thin quivering strip of moonlight dancing over the calm ocean waves, and the presence of him she loved best. The soldier was well armed. From his childhood he had been accustomed to scenes of danger; his manhood had been spent in a country where the European carries his life in his hand, and all on board the raft seemed quiet. The men might have renounced their treacherous purpose. "Well," said he, falling into the humour of the moment and drawing the thick cloak so as to cover Isabel more completely, while he looked down on the fair face turned up to meet his gaze, "I had an ancestor, who, for the sake of his religion, which was yours, lost lands and property that ought to have descended in direct line to us. Shall I tell you of this?" "Do, Enrico mio," replied Isabel, nestling nearer to him. "There is an old mansion near the sea shore in North Wales. It is a small farm-house now, Isabel, and though many hundreds of people who go year after year to the two well-known towns of Conway and Llandudno pass it often, though they remark its old Elizabethan windows, its twisted chimneys, and queer odd look, none ever take much notice of it, because near it stands the lordly house of Gloddaeth, surrounded by its sweeping woods and noble park. Yet it is just of this old farm-house I am going to tell you." "Don't talk of trees and parks, Enrico; it makes me feel such a longing for land," said Isabel.