In Kedars Tents | Page 9

that under their outer wraps the ladies wore the mantilla, and had that graceful carriage of the head which is only seen in the Peninsula.
'Thank you, mademoiselle, but I am making good progress now. Can you see the ship?'
She rose and stood peering into the darkness ahead--a graceful, swaying figure. A faint scent as of some flower was wafted on the keen wind to Conyngham, who had already decided with characteristic haste that this young person was as beautiful as she was intrepid.
'Yes,' she answered, 'it is quite close. They are also showing lights to guide us.'
She stood looking apparently over his head towards the 'Granville,' but when she spoke it would seem that her thoughts had not been fixed on that vessel.
'Is monsieur a sailor?'
'No, but I fortunately have a little knowledge of such matters-- fortunate, since I have been able to turn it to the use of these ladies.'
'But you are travelling in the "Granville."'
'Yes; I am travelling in the "Granville."'
Over his oars Conyngham looked hard at his interlocutrice, but could discern nothing of her features. Her voice interested him, however, and he wondered whether there were ever calms on the coast of Spain at this time of the year.
'Our sailors,' said the young lady, 'in Spain are brave, but they are very cautious. I think none of them would have done such a thing as you have just done for us. We were in danger. I knew it. Was it not so?'
'The boat might have drifted against some ship at anchor and been upset. You might also have been driven out to sea. They had no boat on board the "Granville" ready to put out and follow you.'
'Yes; and you saved us. But you English are of a great courage. And my mother, instead of thanking you, is offering her gratitude to James and John the sons of Zebedee, as if they had done it.'
'I am no relation to Zebedee,' said Conyngham with a gay laugh. 'Madame may rest assured of that.'
'Julia,' said the elder lady severely, and in a voice that seemed to emanate from a chest as deep and hollow as an octave cask, 'I shall tell Father Concha, who will assuredly reprove you. The saints upon whom I called were fishermen, and therefore the more capable of understanding our great danger. As for monsieur, he knows that he shall always be in my prayers.'
'Thank you, madame,' said Conyngham gravely.
'And at a fitter time I hope to be able to tender him my thanks.'
At this moment a voice from the 'Granville' hailed the boat, asking whether all was well and Mr. Conyngham on board. Being reassured on this point, the mate apparently attended to another matter requiring his attention, the mingled cries and expostulations of the cabin boy sufficiently indicating its nature.
The boat, under Conyngham's strong and steady strokes, now came slowly and without mishap alongside the great black hull of the vessel, and it soon became manifest that, although all danger was past, there yet remained difficulty ahead; for when the boat was made fast and the ladder lowered, the elder of the two ladies firmly and emphatically denied her ability to make the ascent. The French boatman, shivering in a borrowed great coat, and with a vociferation which flavoured the air with cognac, added his entreaties to those of the mate and steward. In the small boat Conyngham, in French, and the lady's daughter, in Spanish, represented that at least half of the heavenly host, having intervened to save her from so great a peril as that safely passed through, could surely accomplish this smaller feat with ease. But the lady still hesitated, and the mate, having clambered down into the boat, grabbed Conyngham's arm with a large and not unkindly hand, and pushed him forcibly towards the ladder.
'You hadn't got no business, Mr. Conyngham,' he said gruffly, 'to leave the ship like that, and like as not you've got your death of cold. Just you get aboard and leave these women to me. You get to your bunk, mister, and stooard'll bring you something hot.'
There was nought but obedience in the matter, and Conyngham was soon between the blankets, alternately shivering and burning in the first stages of a severe chill.
The captain having come on board, the 'Granville' presently weighed anchor, and on the bosom of an ebbing tide turned her blunt prow towards the winter sea. The waves out there beat high, and before the lights of Pauillac, then a mere cluster of fishers' huts, had passed away astern, the good ship was lifting her bow with a sense of anticipation, while her great wooden beams and knees began to strain and creak.
During the following days, while the sense of spring and warmth slowly gave life to those who could breathe