He saw that there was something unreal about this Don Pedro—that he was not a gentleman of Spain, or any other place; and as for the Padre Ugarte, he suspected something worse than mere imposture. Yet, veiling the native ferocity of his character, Pedro was now humble, fawning, and discreet—oh! exceedingly discreet! He had a great game to play—a rich end in view.
"We met, senor, once before that accident," said Donna Ignez, looking up with a bright smile in her soft eyes.
"Yes, senora," replied Pedro.
"At the Matriz Church—ah, you remember!"
"Could I ever forget?" was the gallant response.
"And the sermon?'
"It was divine," said Pedro, in a low voice, but yet distinct enough to reach the ear of the padre.
So now they were friends at once, to an extent that cousin Perez could neither understand nor relish.
Though, when inflamed by his potations, a mad ruffian, as we have shown by his proceedings on board the Hermione, Pedro was not altogether destitute of the subtle art of winning female favour—the art in which his father excelled so fatally, and which was the only inheritance he had left him—so he exerted every energy to please the fair young Ignez, and to use with industry the time that fortune gave him.
So, after detailing a very bloody engagement between the ships of the Federals and Confederates, in which he alleged he was wounded and left for dead on the enemy's deck, he suddenly affected to discover a new source for deep interest in Donna Ignez—a close and most remarkable resemblance which she bore to "a sister, whom he loved dearly."