“—Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphosed me;
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,
War with good counsel, set the world at nought.”
Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Ludlow quitted the Lust in Rust with a wavering purpose. Throughout the
whole of the preceding interview, he had jealously watched the eye and
features of la belle Barbérie; and he had not failed to draw his
conclusions from a mien that too plainly expressed a deep interest in
the free-trader. For a time, only, had he been induced, by the calmness
and self-possession with which she received her uncle and himself, to
believe that she had not visited the Water-Witch at all; but when the
gay and reckless being who governed the movements of that extraordinary
vessel, appeared, he could no longer flatter himself with this hope. He
now believed that her choice for life had been made; and while he
deplored the infatuation which could induce so gifted a woman to forget
her station and character, he was himself too frank not to see that the
individual who had in so short a time gained this ascendency over the
feelings of Alida, was, in many respects, fitted to exercise a powerful
influence over the imagination of a youthful and secluded female.
There was a struggle in the mind of the young commander, between his
duty and his feelings. Remembering the artifice by which he had
formerly fallen into the power of the smugglers, he had taken his
precautions so well in the present visit to the villa, that he firmly
believed he had the person of his lawless rival at his mercy. To avail
himself of this advantage, or to retire and leave him in possession of
his mistress and his liberty, was the point mooted in his thoughts.
Though direct and simple in his habits, like most of the seamen of that
age, Ludlow had all the loftier sentiments that become a gentleman. He
felt keenly for Alida, and he shrunk, with sensitive pride, from
incurring the imputation of having acted under the impulses of
disappointment. To these motives of forbearance, was also to be added
the inherent reluctance which, as an officer of rank, he felt to the
degradation of being employed in a duty that more properly belongs to
men of less elevated ambition. He looked on himself as a defender of
the rights and glory of his sovereign, and not as a mercenary
instrument of those who collected her customs; and though he would not
have hesitated to incur any rational hazard, in capturing the vessel of
the smuggler, or in making captives of all or any of her crew on their
proper element, he disliked the appearance of seeking a solitary
individual on the land. In addition to this feeling, there was his own
pledge that he met the proscribed dealer in contraband on neutral
ground. Still the officer of the Queen had his orders, and he could not
shut his eyes to the general obligations of duty. The brigantine was
known to inflict so much loss on the revenue of the crown, more
particularly in the other hemisphere, that an especial order had been
issued by the Admiral of the station, for her capture. Here then was an
opportunity of depriving the vessel of that master-spirit which,
notwithstanding the excellence of its construction, had alone so long
enabled it to run the gauntlet of a hundred cruisers with impunity.
Agitated by these contending feelings and reflections, the young sailor
left the door of the villa, and came upon its little lawn, in order to
reflect with less interruption, and, indeed, to breathe more freely.
The night had advanced into the first watch of the seaman. The shadow
of the mountain, however, still covered the grounds of the villa, the
river, and the shores of the Atlantic, with a darkness that was deeper
than the obscurity which dimmed the surface of the rolling ocean
beyond. Objects were so indistinct as to require close and steady looks
to ascertain their character, while the setting of the scene might be
faintly traced by its hazy and indistinct outlines. The curtains of la
Cour des Fées had been drawn, and, though the lights were still shining
within, the eye could not penetrate the pavilion. Ludlow gazed about
him, and then held his way reluctantly towards the water.
In endeavoring to conceal the interior of her apartment from the eyes
of those without, Alida had suffered a corner of the drapery to remain
open. When Ludlow reached the gate that led to the landing, he turned
to take a last look at the villa; and, favored by his new position, he
caught a glimpse, through the opening, of the person of her who was
still uppermost in his thoughts.
La belle Barbérie was seated at the little table, by whose side she had
been found, earlier in the evening. An elbow rested on the precious
wood, and one fair hand supported a brow that was thoughtful far beyond
the usual character of its expression, if not melancholy. The commander
of the Coquette felt the blood rushing to his heart, for he fancied
that the beautiful and pensive countenance was that of a penitent. It
is probable that the idea quickened his drooping hopes; for Ludlow
believed it might not yet be too late to rescue the woman, he so
sincerely loved, from the precipice over which she was suspended. The
seemingly irretrievable step, already taken, was forgotten; and the
generous young sailor was about to rush back to la Cour des Fées, to
implore its mistress to be just to herself, when the hand fell from her
polished brow, and Alida raised her face, with a look which denoted
that she was no longer alone. The captain drew back, to watch the
issue.
When Alida lifted her eyes, it was in kindness, and with that frank
ingenuousness with which an unperverted female greets the countenance
of those who have her confidence. She smiled, though still in sadness
rather than in pleasure; and she spoke, but the distance prevented her
words from being audible. At the next instant, Seadrift moved into the
space visible through the half-drawn drapery, and took her hand. Alida
made no effort to withdraw the member; but, on the contrary, she looked
up into his face with still less equivocal interest, and appeared to
listen to his voice with an absorbed attention. The gate was swung
violently open, and Ludlow had reached the margin of the river before
he again paused.
The barge of the Coquette was found where her commander had ordered his
people to lie concealed, and he was about to enter it, when the noise
of the little gate, again shutting with the wind, induced him to cast a
look behind. A human form was distinctly to be seen, against the light
walls of the villa, descending towards the river. The men were
commanded to keep close, and, withdrawing within the shadow of a fence,
the captain waited the approach of the new-comer.
As the unknown person passed, Ludlow recognized the agile form of the
free-trader. The latter advanced to the margin of the river, and gazed
warily about him for several minutes. A low but distinct note, on a
common ship’s-call, was then heard. The summons was soon succeeded by
the appearance of a small skiff, which glided out of the grass on the
opposite side of the stream, and approached the spot where Seadrift
awaited its arrival. The free-trader sprang lightly into the little
boat, which immediately began to glide out of the river. As the skiff
passed the spot where he stood, Ludlow saw that it was pulled by a
single seaman; and, as his own boat was manned by six lusty rowers, he
felt that the person of the man whom he so much envied was at length
fairly and honorably in his power. We shall not attempt to analyze the
emotion that was ascendant in the mind of the young officer. It is
enough for our purpose to add, that he was soon in his boat and in full
pursuit.
As the course to be taken by the barge was diagonal rather than direct,
a few powerful strokes of the oars brought it so near the skiff, that
Ludlow, by placing his hand on the gunwale of the latter, could arrest
its progress.
“Though so lightly equipped, fortune favors you less in boats than in
larger craft, Master Seadrift;” said Ludlow, when, by virtue of a
strong arm, he had drawn his prize so near, as to find himself seated
within a few feet of his prisoner. “We meet on our proper element,
where there can be no neutrality between one of the contraband and a
servant of the Queen.”
The start, the half-repressed exclamation, and the momentary silence,
showed that the captive had been taken completely by surprise.
“I admit your superior dexterity,” he at length said, speaking low and
not without agitation. “I am your prisoner, Captain Ludlow; and I would
now wish to know your intentions in disposing of my person.”
“That is soon answered. You must be content to take the homely
accommodations of the Coquette, for the night, instead of the more
luxurious cabin of your Water-Witch. What the authorities of the
Province may decide, to-morrow, it exceeds the knowledge of a poor
commander in the navy to say.”
“The lord Cornbury has retired to——?”
“A gaol,” said Ludlow, observing that the other spoke more like one who
mused than like one who asked a question. “The kinsman of our gracious
Queen speculates on the chances of human fortune, within the walls of a
prison. His successor, the brigadier Hunter, is thought to have less
sympathy for the moral infirmities of human nature!”
“We deal lightly with dignities!” exclaimed the captive, with all his
former gaiety of tone and manner. “You have your revenge for some
personal liberties that were certainly taken, not a fortnight since,
with this boat and her crew; still, I have much mistaken your
character, if unnecessary severity forms one of its features. May I
communicate with the brigantine?”
“Freely—when she is once in the care of a Queen’s officer.”
“Oh, sir, you disparage the qualities of my mistress, in supposing
there exists a parallel with your own! The Water-Witch will go at
large, till a far different personage shall become your captive.—May I
communicate with the shore?”
“To that there exists no objection—if you will point out the means.”
“I have one, here, who will prove a faithful messenger.”
“Too faithful to the delusion which governs all your followers! Your
man must be your companion in the Coquette, Master Seadrift, though;”
and Ludlow spoke in melancholy, “if there be any on the land, who take
so near an interest in your welfare as to find more sorrow in
uncertainty than in the truth, one of my own crew, in any of whom
confidence may be placed, shall do your errand.”
“Let it be so;” returned the free-trader, as if satisfied that he
could, in reason, expect no more. “Take this ring to the lady of yonder
dwelling,” he continued, when Ludlow had selected the messenger, “and
say that he who sends it is about to visit the cruiser of Queen Anne in
company with her commander. Should there be question of the motive, you
can speak to the manner of my arrest.”
“And, mark me, fellow—” added his captain; “that duty done, look to the
idlers on the shore, and see that no boat quits the river, to apprize
the smugglers of their loss.”
The man, who was armed in the fashion of a seaman on boat duty,
received these orders with the customary deference; and the barge
having drawn to the shore for that purpose, he landed.
“And now, Master Seadrift, having thus far complied with your wishes, I
may expect you will not be deaf to mine. Here is a seat at your service
in my barge, and I confess it will please me to see it occupied.”
As the captain spoke, he reached forth an arm, partly in natural
complaisance, and partly with a carelessness that denoted some
consciousness of the difference in their rank, both to aid the other to
comply with his request, and, at need, to enforce it. But the
free-trader seemed to repel the familiarity; for he drew back, at
first, like one who shrunk sensitively from the contact, and then,
without touching the arm that was extended with a purpose so equivocal,
he passed lightly from the skiff into the barge, declining assistance.
The movement was scarcely made, before Ludlow quitted the latter, and
occupied the place which Seadrift had just vacated. He commanded one of
his men to exchange with the seaman of the brigantine; and, having made
these preparations, he again addressed his prisoner.
“I commit you to the care of my cockswain and these worthy tars, Master
Seadrift. We shall steer different ways. You will take possession of my
cabin, where all will be at your disposal; ere the middle watch is
called I shall be there to prevent the pennant from coming down, and
your sea-green flag turning the people’s heads from their allegiance.”
Ludlow then whispered his orders to his cockswain, and they separated.
The barge proceeded to the mouth of the river, with the long and
stately sweep of the oars, that marks the progress of a man-of-war’s
boat; while the skiff followed, noiselessly and, aided by its color and
dimensions, nearly invisible.
When the two boats entered the waters of the bay, the barge held on its
course towards the distant ship; while the skiff inclined to the right,
and steered directly for the bottom of the Cove. The precaution of the
dealer in contraband had provided his little boat with muffled sculls;
and Ludlow, when he was enabled to discover the fine tracery of the
lofty and light spars of the Water-Witch, as they rose above the tops
of the dwarf trees that lined the shore, had no reason to think his
approach was known. Once assured of the presence and position of the
brigantine, he was enabled to make his advances with all the caution
that might be necessary.
Some ten or fifteen minutes were required to bring the skiff beneath
the bowsprit of the beautiful craft, without giving the alarm to those
who doubtless were watching on her decks. The success of our
adventurer, however, appeared to be complete; for he was soon holding
by the cable, and not the smallest sound, of any kind, had been heard
in the brigantine. Ludlow now regretted he had not entered the Cove
with his barge; for, so profound and unsuspecting was the quiet of the
vessel, that he doubted not of his ability to have carried her by a
coup-de-main. Vexed by his oversight, and incited by the prospects of
success, he began to devise those expedients which would naturally
suggest themselves to a seaman in his situation.
The wind was southerly, and, though not strong it was charged with the
dampness and heaviness of the night air. As the brigantine lay
protected from the influence of the tides, she obeyed the currents of
the other element; and, while her bows looked outward, her stern
pointed towards the bottom of the basin. The distance from the land was
not fifty fathoms, and Ludlow did not fail to perceive that the vessel
rode by a kedge, and that her anchors, of which there was a good
provision, were all snugly stowed. These facts induced the hope that he
might separate the hawser that alone held the brigantine, which, in the
event of his succeeding, he had every reason to believe would drift
ashore, before the alarm could be given to her crew, sail set, or an
anchor let go. Although neither he nor his companion possessed any
other implement to effect this object, than the large seaman’s knife of
the latter, the temptation was too great not to make the trial. The
project was flattering; for, though the vessel in that situation would
receive no serious injury, the unavoidable delay of heaving her off the
sands would enable his boats, and perhaps the ship herself, to reach
the place in time to secure their prize. The bargeman was asked for his
knife, and Ludlow himself made the first cut upon the solid and
difficult mass. The steel had no sooner touched the compact yarns, than
a dazzling glare of light shot into the face of him who held it.
Recovering from the shock, and rubbing his eyes, our startled
adventurer gazed upwards, with that consciousness of wrong which
assails us when detected in any covert act, however laudable may be its
motive;—a sort of homage that nature, under every circumstance, pays to
loyal dealings.
Though Ludlow felt, at the instant of this interruption, that he stood
in jeopardy of his life, the concern it awakened was momentarily lost
in the spectacle before him. The bronzed and unearthly features of the
image were brightly illuminated; and, while her eyes looked on him
steadily, as if watching his smallest movement, her malign and speaking
smile appeared to turn his futile effort into scorn! There was no need
to bid the seaman at the oars to do his duty. No sooner did he catch
the expression of that mysterious face, than the skiff whirled away
from the spot, like a sea-fowl taking wing under alarm. Though Ludlow,
at each moment, expected a shot, even the imminence of the danger did
not prevent him from gazing, in absorbed attention, at the image. The
light by which it was illumined, though condensed, powerful, and
steadily cast, wavered a little, and exhibited her attire. Then the
captain saw the truth of what Seadrift had asserted; for, by some
process of the machine into which he had not leisure to inquire, the
sea-green mantle had been changed for a slighter robe of the azure of
the deep waters. As if satisfied with having betrayed the intention of
the sorceress to depart, the light immediately vanished.
“This mummery is well maintained!” muttered Ludlow, when the skiff had
reached a distance that assured him of safety. “Here is a symptom that
the rover means soon to quit the coast. The change of dress is some
signal to his superstitious and deluded crew. It is my task to
disappoint his mistress, as he terms her, though it must be confessed
that she does not sleep at her post.”
During the ten succeeding minutes, our foiled adventurer had leisure,
no less than motive, to feel how necessary is success to any project
whose means admit of dispute. Had the hawser been cut and the
brigantine stranded, it is probable that the undertaking of the captain
would have been accounted among those happy expedients which, in all
pursuits, are thought to distinguish the mental efforts of men
particularly gifted by Nature; while, under the actual circumstances,
he who would have reaped all the credit of so felicitous an idea, was
mentally chafing with the apprehension that his unlucky design might
become known. His companion was no other than Robert Yarn, the
fore-top-man, who, on a former occasion, had been heard to affirm, that
he had already enjoyed so singular a view of the lady of the
brigantine, while assisting to furl the fore-top-sail of the Coquette.
“This has been a false board, Master Yarn,” observed the captain, when
the skiff was past the entrance of the Cove, and some distance down the
bay; “for the credit of our cruise, we will not enter the occurrence in
the log. You understand me, sir: I trust a word is sufficient for so
shrewd a wit?”
“I hope I know my duty, your honor, which is to obey orders, though it
may break owners,” returned the top-man. “Cutting a hawser with a knife
is but slow work in the best of times; but though one who has little
right to speak in the presence of a gentleman so well taught, it is my
opinion that the steel is not yet sharpened which is to part any rope
aboard yon rover, without the consent of the black-looking woman under
her bowsprit.”
“And what is the opinion of the berth-deck concerning this strange
brigantine, that we have so long been following without success?”
“That we shall follow her till the last biscuit is eaten, and the
scuttle-butt shall be dry, with no better fortune. It is not my
business to teach your honor; but there is not a man in the ship, who
ever expects to be a farthing the better for her capture. Men are of
many minds concerning the ‘Skimmer of the Seas;’ but all are agreed
that, unless aided by some uncommon luck, which may amount to the same
thing as being helped by him who seldom lends a hand to any honest
undertaking, that he is altogether such a seaman as another like him
does not sail the ocean!”
“I am sorry that my people should have reason to think so meanly of our
own skill. The ship has not yet had a fair chance. Give her an open
sea, and a cap-full of wind, and she’ll defy all the black women that
the brigantine can stow. As to your ‘Skimmer of the Seas,’ man or
devil, he is our prisoner.”
“And does your honor believe that the trim-built and light-sailing
gentleman we overhauled in this skiff, is in truth that renowned
rover?” asked Yarn, resting on his sculls, in the interest of the
moment. “There are some on board the ship, who maintain that the man in
question is taller than the big tide-waiter at Plymouth, with a pair of
shoulders——”
“I have reason to know they are mistaken. If we are more enlightened
than our shipmates, Master Yarn, let us be close-mouthed, that others
do not steal our knowledge—hold, here is a crown with the face of King
Louis; he is our bitterest enemy, and you may swallow him whole, if you
please, or take him in morsels, as shall best suit your humor. But
remember that our cruise in the skiff is under secret orders, and the
less we say about the anchor-watch of the brigantine, the better.”
Honest Bob took the piece of silver, with a gusto that no opinions of
the marvellous could diminish; and, touching his hat, he did not fail
to make the usual protestations of discretion. That night the messmates
of the fore-top-man endeavored, in vain, to extract from him the
particulars of his excursion with the captain; though the direct
answers to their home questions were only evaded by allusions so dark
and ambiguous, as to give to that superstitious feeling of the crew,
which Ludlow had wished to lull, twice its original force.
Not long after this short dialogue, the skiff reached the side of the
Coquette. Her commander found his prisoner in possession of his own
cabin, and, though grave if not sad in demeanor, perfectly
self-possessed. His arrival had produced a deep effect on the officers
and men, though, like Yarn, most of both classes refused to believe
that the handsome and gayly-attired youth they had been summoned to
receive, was the notorious dealer in contraband.
Light observers of the forms under which human qualities are exhibited,
too often mistake their outward signs. Though it is quite in reason to
believe, that he who mingles much in rude and violent scenes should
imbibe some of their rough and repelling aspects, still it would seem
that, as the stillest waters commonly conceal the deepest currents, so
the powers to awaken extraordinary events are not unfrequently cloaked
under a chastened, and sometimes under a cold, exterior. It has often
happened, that the most desperate and self-willed men are those whose
mien and manners would give reason to expect the mildest and most
tractable dispositions; while he who has seemed a lion sometimes
proves, in his real nature, to be little better than a lamb.
Ludlow had reason to see that the incredulity of his top-man had
extended to most on board; and, as he could not conquer his tenderness
on the subject of Alida and all that concerned her, while on the other
hand there existed no motive for immediately declaring the truth, he
rather favored the general impression by his silence. First giving some
orders of the last importance at that moment, he passed into the cabin,
and sought a private interview with his captive.
“That vacant state-room is at your service, Master Seadrift,” he
observed, pointing to the little apartment opposite to the one he
occupied himself.
“We are likely to be shipmates several days, unless you choose to
shorten the time, by entering into a capitulation for the Water-Witch;
in which case——”
“You had a proposition to make.”
Ludlow hesitated, cast an eye behind him, to be certain they were
alone, and drew nearer to his captive.
“Sir, I will deal with you as becomes a seaman. La belle Barbérie is
dearer to me than ever woman was before;—dearer, I fear, than ever
woman will be again. You need not learn that circumstances have
occurred,—Do you love the lady?”
“I do.”
“And she—fear not to trust the secret to one who will not abuse the
trust—returns she your affection?”
The mariner of the brigantine drew back with dignity; and then,
instantly recovering his ease, as if fearful he might forget himself,
he said with warmth—
“This trifling with woman’s weakness is the besetting sin of man! None
may speak of her inclinations, Captain Ludlow, but herself. It never
shall be said, that any of the sex had aught but fitting reverence for
their dependent state, their constant and confiding love, their
faithfulness in all the world’s trials, and their singleness of heart,
from me.”
“These sentiments do you honor; and I could wish, for your own sake, as
well as that of others, there was less of contrariety in your
character. One cannot but grieve——”
“You had a proposition, for the brigantine?”
“I would have said, that were the vessel yielded without further
pursuit, means might be found to soften the blow to those who will
otherwise be most wounded by her capture.”
The face of the dealer in contraband had lost some of its usual
brightness and animation; the color of the cheek was not as rich, and
the eye was less at ease, than in his former interviews with Ludlow.
But a smile of security crossed his fine features, when the other spoke
of the fate of the brigantine.
“The keel of the ship that is to capture the Water-Witch is not yet
laid,” he said, firmly; “nor is the canvas that is to drive her through
the water, wove! Our mistress is not so heedless as to sleep, when
there is most occasion for her services.”
“This mummery of a supernatural aid may be of use in holding the minds
of the ignorant beings who follow your fortunes, in subjection, but it
is lost when addressed to me. I have ascertained the position of the
brigantine—nay, I have been under her very bowsprit, and so near her
cut-water, as to have examined her moorings. Measures are now taking to
improve my knowledge, and to secure the prize.”
The free-trader heard him without exhibiting alarm, though he listened
with an attention that rendered his breathing audible.
“You found my people vigilant?” he rather carelessly observed, than
asked.
“So much so, that I have said the skiff was pulled beneath her
martingale, without a hail! Had there been means, it would not have
required many moments to cut the hawser by which she rides, and to have
laid your beauteous vessel ashore!”
The gleam of Seadrift’s eye was like the glance of an eagle. It seemed
to inquire, and to resent, in the same instant. Ludlow shrunk from the
piercing look, and reddened to the brow,—whether with his
recollections, or not, it is unnecessary to explain.
“The worthy device was thought of!—nay, it was attempted!” exclaimed
the other, gathering confirmation in the consciousness of his
companion.—“You did not—you could not succeed!”
“Our success will be proved in the result.”
“The lady of the brigantine forgot not her charge! You saw her bright
eye—her dark and meaning face! Light shone on that mysterious
countenance—my words are true, Ludlow, thy tongue is silent, but that
honest countenance confesses all!”
The gay dealer in contraband turned away, and laughed in his merriest
manner.
“I knew it would be so,” he continued, “what is the absence of one
humble actor from her train. Trust me, you will find her coy as ever,
and ill-disposed to hold converse with a cruiser who speaks so rudely
through his cannon. Ha!—here are auditors!”
An officer, to announce the near approach of a boat, entered. Both
Ludlow and his prisoner started at this intelligence, and it was not
difficult to fancy both believed that a message from the Water-Witch
might be expected. The former hastened on deck; while the latter,
notwithstanding a self-possession that was so much practised, could not
remain entirely at his ease. He passed into the state-room, and it is
more than probable that he availed himself of the window of its
quarter-gallery, to reconnoitre those who were so unexpectedly coming
to the ship.
But after the usual hail and reply, Ludlow no longer anticipated any
proposal from the brigantine. The answer had been what a seaman would
call lubberly; or it wanted that attic purity that men of the
profession rarely fail to use on all occasions, and by the means of
which they can tell a pretender to their mysteries, with a quickness
that is almost instinctive. When the short, quick “boat-ahoy!” of the
sentinel on the gangway, was answered by the “what do you want?” of a
startled respondent in the boat, it was received among the crew of the
Coquette with such a sneer as the tyro, who has taken two steps in any
particular branch of knowledge, is apt to bestow on the blunders of him
who has taken but one.
A deep silence reigned, while a party consisting of two men and as many
females mounted the side of the ship, leaving a sufficient number of
forms behind them in the boat to man its oars. Notwithstanding more
than one light was held in such a manner as would have discovered the
faces of the strangers had they not all been closely muffled, the party
passed into the cabin without recognition.
“Master Cornelius Ludlow, one might as well put on the Queen’s livery
at once, as to be steering in this uncertain manner, between the
Coquette and the land, like a protested note sent from endorser to
endorser, to be paid,” commenced Alderman Van Beverout, uncasing
himself in the great cabin with the coolest deliberation, while his
niece sunk into a chair unbidden, her two attendants standing near in
submissive silence. “Here is Alida, who has insisted on paying so
unseasonable a visit, and, what is worse still, on dragging me in her
train, though I am past the day of following a woman about, merely
because she happens to have a pretty face. The hour is unseasonable,
and as to the motive—why, if Master Seadrift has got a little out of
his course, no great harm can come of it, while the affair is in the
hands of so discreet and amiable an officer as yourself.”
The Alderman became suddenly mute; for the door of the state-room
opened, and the individual he had named entered in person.
Ludlow needed no other explanation than a knowledge of the persons of
his guests, to understand the motive of their visit. Turning to
Alderman Van Beverout, he said, with a bitterness he could not repress—
“My presence may be intrusive. Use the cabin as freely as your own
house, and rest assured that while it is thus honored, it shall be
sacred to its present uses. My duty calls me to the deck.”
The young man bowed gravely, and hurried from the place. As he passed
Alida, he caught a gleam of her dark and eloquent eye, and he construed
the glance into an expression of gratitude.