"A woman!" Lepoletais exclaimed, in surprise, "Pardon me, Madam, for not recognizing you at once."
"I am, caballero, Doña Clara de Bejar, to whom, as I was informed, you have a letter to deliver."
"In that case doubly welcome, madam; as for the note in question, I have not the charge of it, but my comrade."
"Zounds," L'Olonnais exclaimed, who had gone up to the wounded man, "Omopoua certainly told us that this poor devil of a monk had been almost dismasted, but I did not expect to find him in so pitiable a state."
"Well," Lepoletais remarked with a frown, "I am not a very religious man, but hang me if I should not hesitate to treat a monk in this way; only a pagan is capable of committing such a crime."
Then, with a truly filial attention, which the Spaniards admired, the rude adventurer set to work, offering some relief to the wounded man's intolerable sufferings, in which he entirely succeeded, owing to a long practice in treating wounds of every description, and Fray Arsenio soon fell into an invigorating sleep.
During this time L'Olonnais had handed to Doña Clara the letter which Montbarts had entrusted to him for her, and the young lady had withdrawn a little for the purpose of reading it.
"Come, come," L'Olonnais said gaily, as he tapped the Major-domo's shoulder, "that is what I call a sensible lad, he has thought of the substantials; breakfast is ready."
"If that be the case," Lepoletais said, with a significant wink to his comrade; "we will eat double tides, for we shall have work before long."
"Shall we not wait the return of the Indian chief?" Don Sancho asked.