"I am here to offer my services, Señor Capitan. Can I be of any use? You may have a storm from the southward. To-day has been a weather-breeder. I think you have women on board. I could take them—"
"Gracias! gracias! my kind Señor Silencio. That will help me above all things."
"And if the wind does not rise, Señor Capitan, the tide will. Keep your engines backing, and there will be no harm done. I will take whom I can, and send for the others." Which proves that love, if not blind, may, however, be untruthful upon occasion.
How Silencio got Raquel over the side he never knew. Some one aided him at the captain's order, but he realized at last the blessed fact that she was there beside him, and that they were gliding from the vessel's hull as fast as he could impel the boat.
"Some miscreant has done this," roared the captain above the noise, as he leant over the side and strained his eyes after Silencio. "I beg you, Señor, to look for him, and when you have caught him, hand him over to me."
"I shall remember your words, Señor Capitan."
"I will have him shot in the market-place of the Port of Entry, and send for all the natives to see."
"I will remember your words, Señor Capitan, you may be sure of that, when I catch him—" But the last words of Don Gil were lost in the renewed efforts of the engineer to back the steamer from the sand spit.
No words passed at first between Raquel and her rescuer. If love is not always blind and sometimes not truthful, he is apt to be silent. Raquel needed no explanation. As the boat glided through the darkness, Silencio dropped the oars. He took her hands in his. His lips were pressed to hers. What question should she ask? What more did she crave to know? Here were life and liberty and love, in exchange for slavery, pollution, and worse than death.