“Rather a difference this from yesterday, Dom Maxara,” said Wyzinski, as that nobleman appeared coming from his cabin.
“A difference for the better. Will you oblige me by explaining to our captain,” continued the old gentleman, “that my daughter, Donna Isabel, begs to be excused from joining the party? She is still suffering from the shock of late emotions.”
A ceremonious bow followed the interpretation, on the part of the Portuguese, the Englishman replying with his mouth full.
“Ay, ay, signor, and small blame to her. It is not every day the fishes get the picking of so tight a lad and thorough-bred a sailor as poor Blount.”
“How long do you propose lying here, Captain Weber?”
“A couple of days will set us all a-tanto again, and give us time to overhaul the standing and running gear.”
“I suppose there is not any danger here?” asked Hughes.
“Danger!—how can there be? Let it blow as hard as it likes, and from what quarter it chooses, we are protected,” replied Weber, thinking only of the weather.
“I meant from the natives, not from the elements,” remarked Hughes.
“I know no more of Madagascar than you do,” replied the captain. “It is the first time my anchor ever had hold of the island.”