Night came on, and one by one the stars shone out. A long gentle swell was all that remained of the late storm, and the brig, barely rising to it, rolled clumsily and heavily. The men had behaved well. There had been a question raised, when they were tired of the pumps, and found that, work as hard as they might, it was useless, of breaking into the spirit-room; it had been soon disposed of, however, and each and all had worked cheerfully.
Crew and passengers were on deck. Isabel had been speaking in a pleading tone, while the dark mass of timber alongside was as yet not tenanted.
“I cannot bear to think of what remains of my poor father being left here. We are close to land; let me, at least, see him laid to rest in African soil.”
“Dearest Isabel, your wish is law to me, and the desire is a natural though I think a wrong one. We don’t know when we may reach land, and the sad sight will but increase your grief. Believe me, dearest, it is useless.”
Isabel looked up into her husband’s face.
“My first request,” she murmured.
The look was irresistible; and Hughes walked forward to where Captain Weber stood, among his crew, completing his last dispositions.
“Captain Weber, can we not take the remains of Dom Maxara on shore for burial?”
“What use will it be? The old barky, with all she contains, will soon be at the bottom of the sea, and so much of my future and hopes go with her, that I should not much care if I went also.”
“Still, it is the daughter’s wish,” urged Hughes.