“Is he dead?” cried the priest.
“Yes.”
The priest turned towards heaven, and prayed for the soul of the pirate captain.
“God forbid that I should ever refuse charity to the afflicted: come with me, sir, and my good patron will, I doubt not, afford you hospitality.”
The three persons walked up the lane, and discovered a comfortable planter’s house, that stood in an open space amidst a number of orange trees. They quickly approached the house; and Agnes, who was sitting at the open window enjoying the evening breeze, fell senseless to the ground, as she beheld Lorenzo.
“Accommodate the stranger as soon as possible,” said a fiery looking old man, whose gray hair floated over his shoulders, and fell over a large and turned-down collar, while the boots which had not crossed the threshold for many a day, still shone with heavy and immense silver spurs.
“Accommodate the stranger, and get him a guide as soon as possible,” he said, as soon as the priest told him of Agnes’s illness, and had no doubt expressed his own surmises.
The time for Lorenzo’s departure approached. He was informed that a guide and a mule awaited his leisure.
“I must see the master of the house,” he said.