On first stepping forth, he stands for a time with eyes fixed upon the other two. He can see them but indistinctly, while they cannot see him at all, his figure making no silhouette against the dark disc of the cave’s mouth. And afterwards, as he moves along the cliff, keeping close in, its shadow effectually conceals him from their view. But still safer is he from being observed by them, after having ensconced himself in a cleft of rock; which he does while their backs are turned upon him.
In the obscure niche he now occupies no light falls upon his face—not a ray. If there did, it would disclose the countenance of Harry Blew; and as oft before, with an expression upon it not easily understood. But no one sees, much less makes attempt to interpret it.
Meanwhile the two saunterers come to a stop and stand conversing. It is Gomez who is first heard saying:
“I’ve been thinking, compañero, now we’ve got everything straight so far, that our best plan will be to stay where we are till the other matter’s fixed.”
“What other are you speaking of?”
“The marrying, of course.”
“Oh! that. Well?”
“We can send on for the padre, and bring him here; or failing him, the cura. To tell truth, I haven’t the slightest idea of where we’ve come ashore. We may be a goodish distance from Santiago; and to go there, embargoed as we are, there’s a possibility of our being robbed of our pretty baggage on the route. You understand me?”
“I do!”
“Against risk of that kind, it is necessary we should take precautions. And the first—as also the best I can think of—is to stay here till we’re spliced. One of our two Californian friends can act as a messenger. Either, with six words I shall entrust to him, will be certain to bring back an ecclesiastic, having full powers to perform the flea-bite of a ceremony. Then we can march inland without fear—ay, with flying colours; both Benedicts, our blushing brides on our arms, and in Santiago spend a pleasant honeymoon.”