The ship cast anchor about a mile from the shore, and soon Ronald and his beloved were in one of the boats dancing over the choppy water. Pat also was in the boat, and so was Mrs. Pellypop and Kate Lester. Ronald hinted to Pat that the old lady would be in the way, but Pat magnanimously said he would look after both her and Miss Lester, so as to leave Monteith free to pursue his wooing with Carmela.
When they reached shore, they rejected all the offers of carriages made by brown-skinned natives of the Rock, and sauntered leisurely up the dusty street, under the massive gateway above which they could see the red-coated sentries, and walked right into the market-place, where a lot of buying, selling, swindling, and talking were going on. Jews, with black, beady eyes and hooked noses, invited them into dingy little shops and produced oriental goods; and sedate-looking Moors in baggy trousers and large turbans, watched them, with Eastern apathy, as they passed along. The tall white houses with the striped awnings over the windows, the crowd of dirty little brats howling for money, the number of red uniforms about, and the narrow, crowded streets, all afforded them much amusement. Then Mrs. Pellypop, inveigled by the wily Pat, went into a shop to buy some things, and was soon engaged in a lively altercation with the shopman, who spoke broken English, and showed her broken things which he said came from Granada, and would have had a broken head if Mrs. Pellypop had not reflected that using her umbrella for such a purpose, might lower her dignity. Pat and Miss Lester looked on and laughed at the scene, so, taking advantage of the confusion, Ronald and Carmela slipped away and climbed up the steep lanes to the old Moorish castle which frowns over the town.
"I don't care much for ruins," said Miss Cotoner, putting up her red sunshade, and a pretty picture she looked under it; "there's a good deal of sameness about them; but Moorish architecture is picturesque."
"Yes, very!" assented Ronald, who would have agreed to anything she said.
"I have Arab blood in my own veins," observed Carmela; "at least, so my father said. One of our ancestors was an Emir."
"Is your father alive?" asked Ronald, who saw in this remark a good opportunity for finding out all about his beloved.
"No, he died a long time ago," she said, sadly. "My mother is also dead, and I lived in Malta with my sister."
"Was that your sister who was with you the first time I saw you?"
Carmela nodded.
"Yes, we did not get on well together, so I left her and am going to some relations in England."