The galley was a long open boat with a single square sail, and thwarts for twelve rowers. To-day six sturdy Scots took the oars, all McDonnells, who wondered much that Ludar should lie forward, leaving the fair maid and me at the helm. As for the old nurse, whose courage revived as the opposite headlands rose up to view, she ensconced herself amidships, and crooned in her native tongue with the rowers. We needed to row many a mile, round the island, before we could hope to hoist our sail. Yet, I could not help marvelling at the vigour of the oarsmen, and at the speed and steadiness of our boat over the billows.
The maiden, who by her blushes when we first met that morning had confirmed Ludar’s story, was content enough to sit in the stern with me, while he courted solitude in the prow. She sat a long while silent, looking seaward, and, I think, with the self-same light in her eyes which dimmed those of Ludar. Presently, however, she turned her face to me and said, almost suddenly:
“Humphrey, tell me more of that maiden you spoke about. Why does she not love you?”
I knew not what to say, the question was so unlooked for. I tried to laugh it off.
“Ask her that,” said I. “Why should she? I am not Sir Ludar.”
“No,” said she gently, and then her face blushed once more, and she dropped silent, looking away seaward.
I was sorry for my churlish speech, and feared it had given her offence. But here I was wrong, for presently she said again:
“Is she the little maid who talks to you at home in French, and whom you carried in your arms. Tell me more of her, Humphrey.”
To please her I obeyed. And somehow, as I recalled all the gentle ways of my sweet little mistress, and the quaint words she had spoken, and, in fancy, saw once again her bright face, and remembered how she had always taken my part and chased away the clouds from my brow—somehow I knew not how, the memory seemed very pleasant to me; and I called to mind more yet, and wondered with myself how little I had had her in my thoughts since last we parted that cruel day in Kingston street.
As I talked, the maiden listened, her eyes stealing now and again to where Ludar lay wrestling with his mighty happiness in the prow, and then returning, half frightened, half pitying, to encourage me to tell her more. Which I did. And then, when all was said, she asked again: