Though the images and sentiments of the song were not very striking, Hildebrand listened to it with the deepest attention, and, as it progressed, with no little emotion. Yet it was not the song—although, in its Spanish dress, it was well calculated to win and arrest the ear—but the singer, that moved him. His voice was so soft, its range so comprehensive, and its full and varied cadences so exquisitely delivered, that it sank to his very heart, and rapt him in wonder and admiration. He could hardly believe that the human voice was capable of such surpassing delicacy of expression. Even when Don Rafaele had ceased singing, his delicious tones still rang in his ear, and his ample chest, as if unable to command itself, still heaved with emotion. Gradually he became more composed, but he did not speak, and he seemed, by his silence, and the deep lines of thought that marked his brow, to be no way disposed to speak. Whatever it might be that he meditated on, his reverie, far from dispersing, became deeper and more deep, and appeared to increase in gloom as it advanced. His complexion grew pale and sad; his eyes, heavy; and, in the expression of his whole countenance, he revealed distinct and unquestionable traces of an uneasy mind.
After thus meditating for nearly half an hour, he seemed to arouse himself, and suddenly turned round to his companion.
Don Rafaele had fallen asleep.
“Fair, sweet youth!” said Hildebrand, in a low voice, as he looked on his lovely countenance, “this is a hard life for thee—and on me lies the blame. But I will be tender of thee. Albeit, in my thoughtless folly, I have unwittingly done wrong to her, she shall leave no charge on me concerning thee.”
So speaking, he caught the sleeping Spaniard in his arms, and, without loosening his clothes, raised him up, and carried him to his berth. There, with a deep sigh, he laid him gently on the bed, and left him to his repose.
He now proposed to take an hour’s rest himself. His duties did not debar him from this indulgence, as he had already, previous to leaving the galleon, made every arrangement that his ship and prize required. The command of the latter he had intrusted to Halyard, with a crew of forty men; and the watch of his own ship, during his stay below, was consigned to the able governance of Tom Tarpaulin. Both ships were bound straight for England, and, though the “Eliza” was a far better sailer than the heavy galleon, were so navigated, with the help of fair weather, as to keep constantly in company. Thus associated, they arrived, in about three weeks’ time, safe in the river Thames.
CHAPTER XI.
It was a fair morning in the January of the year Wonderful, or Admirable year, as it had been forenamed by Doctor Dee, and other knowing astrologers, that two cavaliers, mounted on gallant steeds, rode up to the Strand entrance to Durham House, and there alighted. The taller of the two, and, it may be said, the senior also, then stepped up to the door, and inflicted thereon a loud rap. His summons was promptly answered, and a servant, who appeared uncapped at the door, inquired his business.