The men on the beach below were not long in obeying their captain’s order, and in a minute the toast was given.
“Health and good fortune to the Captain’s lady!”
Everybody drank heartily, the priest more than any one, and Dick, his brocaded coat and soft lace ruffles shining in the dim light, and his black curls showing a little more than usual from under his black kerchief, raised his glass above his head and taking Anny by the hand threw back his head and laughed joyously. He had once again got his own way in spite of difficulties. He drained off his liquor, and throwing the empty glass over his head began to sing:
“Fair as the Island, and proud as the sea,
As naught in the world is sweet Anny to me.”
The rich musical voice echoed round the old boat and floated out over the marshes.
Anny caught her breath and her grip on the Spaniard’s pulsing white hand tightened. She was carried out of herself by the excitement of the moment, the wonderful frock, the jewels, and above all the singing.
Dick felt her emotion, and his arm slid round her waist much like a snake slips round a tree stem, and, as her pretty head fell back on his shoulder, the song grew louder, sweeter, and a triumphant note crept into it.
“So gentle, so tender, so wise without guile,
Oh, where is another like Ann of the Isle?”
Anny sighed deliriously and she shivered with pure excitement; the Spaniard’s full red lips brushed her hair before the wonderful voice rang out again in the chorus:
“Ann, Oh! Ann of the Island,
Where is another like Ann of the Isle?”